A Whole New World
by BrokenAngelJen
Summary: The events of Devil's Trap result in Dean in an out of body experience, and leaves him struggling to understand the course of fate and wondering if he'll ever find a way back to his family.
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: As much as I hate to admit it, I do not own or know Dean, Sam or John Winchester, although I so dearly wish I did. They are the products of the writers... sigh I do, however, own any and all original characters grins

_**A Whole New World**_

_**Tell me, Dean, now when did you last**_

_**Let your heart deicide?**_

_**Prologue**_

They say the human race has this amazing and profound instinct to adapt to their surroundings rather quickly. But let's say someone who has grown up in a hectic life of hunting and uncertainty is suddenly thrust into a calm world of normalcy and certainty, or visa versa?

Do you think adaptation is easy in either sense?

Or what about the idea that two people are destined to be together? It's written in the stars; it's _fate_?

A clichéd question, I know. If you'd have asked me that question three years ago, I would have replied with a wrinkled nose and a definite 'no'. But now? Well, let's just say I met someone who changed my mind.

I step out of the shower and after running the towel over my hair, I wrap it around myself and open the door, feeling the cool October, New Brunswick air on my still wet skin. The window by the front door is open. He's sitting at the desk, his back to me, his eyes on the laptop in front of him. He runs a hand through his short, dark hair, a frustrated sigh escaping him.

"Oh, fuck me."

I smile. "Maybe later," I walk up and lay my hands on his shoulders, "if you're good."

He turns his head to look up at me and grins, then rolls his eyes – those deep hazel pools I'm always getting myself lost in. "Funny."

I shrug. "I thought so, too." I lean down and give him a long, slow kiss, then move to sit on the bed, and look at the computer screen. "I take it you haven't found anything on what we're dealing with?"

He shakes his head, sighing. "No." He looks to me, that cocky half-smile on his face. "But, maybe with the knowledge of a Canadian woman, I'll figure it out."

It's my turn to roll my eyes. "What do you know so far?"

He turns back to the laptop. "Not much. A few hunters from the Fredericton area said they heard howls of pain coming from what seemed to be that cabin just outside Miramichi. One of them also said they saw a young man around eighteen standing in the woods around the cabin." He turns back to me, a hopeful look on his face. "Ring any bells?"

I smile. I know of this story thanks to the wonderful Canadian program, _Creepy Canada_. I nod. "Yes, I know what you're talking about." I get up and after closing the window and curtains, go over to my bag to get my clothes. "You told me about a family – The Benders."

He shudders. "Oh God. Like I could I forget?" He rolls his eyes. "They were about to eat Sam!"

I chuckle softly at his enthusiasm and I pull out my old, but-oh-so comfy orange fleece turtleneck. A pair of faded black jeans follow. "Yeah. It's known as The Dungarvon Whooper, and basically what happened was, while a group of lumberjacks were out collecting wood, a young cook named, Ryan, was killed by the boss for his money belt."

"Lovely," he sighs.

I can't tell if it's the story or my state of undress he's referring to. With him, I can never tell. I continue on anyway. "Yeah, well, it gets even better. Now, there are two versions of this story."

I can just imagine him rolling his eyes at that. "Wonderful. What are they?"

"Well, in one version, the other lumber-workers return and find Ryan dead on the floor. When asked what happened, the boss says that Ryan got sick suddenly and died. In the other version, when the workers come back, Ryan isn't there at all, and the boss tells them that there was a family emergency and Ryan had to leave. Not long after, dinner is served."

I watch him put two and two together, which I've always found very cute. He shudders a moment later, sounding as though he just imagined something very, very disturbingly gross. "Ew. Okay, so the boss cooked Ryan up and the lumber-workers had him for supper…" He smacks his lips, scrunching his nose. "Tasty." He looks at me. "Alright. Which version is true?"

I sigh. "That's debatable. Most believe the first; I, personally, believe the second. However, they both end the same way."

A look of relief graces his features. "Good. How?"

"Ryan's remains were buried on the edge of the clearing, in a shallow grave, marked by a simple wooden cross." I stand up, pulling my jeans up over my hips, zipping them up. I grab my turtleneck and slip it on, tugging it down over my head, taking in the soft lavender scent of my fabric softener.

"Despite the burial," I continue, "the other lumber-workers heard whooping and yelping and they left the following morning, scared shitless." I walk over to his duffle bag, grabbing the map of New Brunswick we'd bought when we'd first arrived. "Now, it's also said a Priest visited the grave and performed some ritual to calm Ryan's spirit."

"Did it work?" he asks, watching me sit down and start gathering the salt and guns.

"Again, debatable. Some say it did, some say it didn't." I turn back to him and grin. "Either way, we've got bones to burn."

A wide grin spreads itself across his face. "Let's get to it." He stands up and gathers what I haven't. I watch him pull out two knives; he hands me one. The sheathed blade is wrapped in his right hand. His fingertips are calloused and there are a couple of small scars in the palm, but those are the tiniest of imperfections I've long since overlooked. The road dirt present the night before is gone, save for a speck or two beneath a couple of fingernails.

I take the knife without a second thought. My eyes trail up the length of his strong right arm, which when paired with his left, has been everything from warmth from the cold to my lifeline during a particularly dangerous hunt. I continue to trail past his shoulder – or otherwise known as my favourite place to lay my head – to his face; more importantly his eyes. They are focused on the duffle bag in front of him and the contents within. Despite the straight, concentrating-on-the-hunt-ahead look, his eyes hold a high level of warmth – a level which didn't just occur overnight.

He turns his head, his eyes gazing into mine. He gives me a warm, easy smile that makes my knees go weak. If I wasn't sitting on the bed, I would be on the floor. I return the smile, my eyes slowing returning to the sheathed knife in my left hand. I set it in my duffle bag and look at the green fabric heap for a moment, listening to him zip his up.

I remember my brother telling me I would never be able to adapt to this lifestyle.

"It's just not _you_," he'd said. "You'll never be able to adapt to a life of hunting and constant travel. You wouldn't be able to give up your life here. I know you; you wouldn't."

That was six months ago. What my brother didn't realize, is that I had already given up quite a bit of my life and myself before I even made the decision to leave Toronto. And, I've proven him wrong.

Sure, this isn't the Ritz, and this life is as weird as any life could possibly get; but I'm living it with the man I love and won't trade it for the world.

He opens the door for me. "Allow me, mademoiselle," he says coquettishly, that soft knee-weakening smile spread across his face.

I smile, holding my head high for effect. "Merci."

He joins me at his pride and joy, the 1967 Chevy Impala, an arm around my shoulders; I fit into him, like a lock and key.

A fairy tale? No. This is as far from a fairy tale as you can get, especially considering he's not the perfect Prince Charming you read about in Cinderella and I am most definitely not a Princess. But, despite the weirdness of the past three years, it seems perfect somehow. I love it.

Have I changed your mind yet?

No?

Still don't believe in fate you say?

Well, give us a bit of your time, and we'll tell you our story.


	2. I Promise You

_**Chapter One**_

**I Promise You**

May 18th, 1989

Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin

_Dean_

_I promise you with everything I am_

The tiny motel room was crowded. There were five of us in a room built for two. Five kids and no adults. My father was helping the Aizik family get rid of a mean Poltergeist, and Sam and I had been told to keep the family safe. Sam was on the floor, playing with a few of his cars, I was sitting at the kitchen table, while the three siblings from the family we were helping were on the two beds. The oldest of the siblings, nine year old, Keith, was sleeping in one bed, while his five year old sister, Lyse, was holding their youngest sister, one year old, Miriam. A rock-salt shotgun rested in my lap. A second was leaning against the wall by the bed Keith slept in. Dad could never be too careful. I could hear his overly-repeated line now: "There's no margin for error."

Lyse looked up at me, laying her sister down on the bed. "Dean, when are my mom and dad coming back?"

I offered her a reassuring smile. "Soon," I replied.

"I hope so." She sat cross-legged, placing her hands in her lap. She looked down at them, refusing to look up. "I want to go home."

I sighed. I knew how she felt, and wished this had never happened for her sake. I set the rock-salt gun on the table and got out of the chair, and went to sit at the end of her bed. "I know, but they'll be back soon, I promise."

She met my gaze, a mixture of question and fright in her bright sea-green eyes. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "What's in our house?"

I cringed. I'd been hoping I wouldn't have to tell her all the details. Not that it really mattered; she'd grow up knowing that evil things exist in this world.

"Is it a ghost?" she asked. "Like Casper?"

Inside, I smiled at her innocence. "Yes, it's a ghost; but it's not like Casper."

Her eyes fell, and her deep red hair concealed her face. "I didn't think so. It tried to hurt Miriam. Casper wouldn't hurt Miriam."

I had to smile at that, and I scooted closer to the scared five year old. "Don't worry, Lyse, my dad is going to get rid of it."

"And then we can go home?"

I nodded. "Yes, then you, Keith, Miriam and your mom and dad can go home."

She looked to me, a small half-smile tugging at her lips. "Okay."

I got off of the bed. "Listen, get some sleep. I'll wake you up when your parents get back."

She sat there for a moment. It looked like she was trying to decide what to do; whether or not to believe me.

"It's okay," I said softly. "Sam and I will be awake."

She nodded after another moment. "'K." Slowly, she lay back on the bed, and once comfortable, closed her eyes, quickly falling asleep.

_**-0o0o0-**_

In the next couple of hours, not much happened. Lyse and Keith woke up a couple of times for a little while, before going back to sleep.

Now, Keith was up and feeding Miriam, while Lyse was curled up on her bed, sound asleep, and Sam had taken Keith's bed. I sat at the bottom of Sam's bed and Keith sat at the bottom of his sister's. Our eyes met, and we shared a long moment of understanding. We were both big brothers and one of our jobs was to look after our younger siblings. We may not have actually said it, but we had made promises to our parents to always protect our siblings. I knew how hard it was looking after one, I couldn't imagine what it was like to look after two – with one only being a year old.

I passed him an understanding smile. He returned it, then turned his attention to Miriam, a slightly goofy big brother grin on his face. I rose an eyebrow and that was when I smelt it.

"Someone's got a B.M.," Keith teased Miriam, who laughed at Keith's wide smile and slightly falsetto voice. He took the baby-bag and went over to the counter, telling Miriam she had a stinky bum. He quickly changed her diaper, then came back, kissing her. He sat back down on Lyse's bed. He looked to me, an embarrassed smile on his face and apologized.

"It's alright." As I spoke, I heard the sound of the car parking in front of the motel room. I got up and after drawing the curtains back half an inch to peak outside, opened the door. I watched my Dad and a very relieved Clyde and Joyce Aizik get out of the car. My Dad looked a little sore, but he was alright. He led Clyde and Joyce into the room, and closed the door behind them.

Joyce was first to Lyse. Gently, she shook her daughter awake. "Lyse," she spoke softly. "Wake up, baby."

Slowly, Lyse woke up. "Mommy?" She sat up, rubbing her eyes. She looked over to my Dad. "Is the ghost gone, Mr. Winchester?"

My father smiled, nodding. "Yes, Lyse, the ghost is gone."

"Okay," Lyse replied. She looked back at her mother. "Can we home now?"

"Sure, sweetie."

The Aizik family gathered everything together, thanked my father for getting rid of the Spirit, and thanked me for staying with Keith, Lyse and Miriam.

I smiled. "You're welcome."

Clyde turned to lead his family out the door.

Lyse faced me, her hand in Keith's. "Thank you, Dean."

"No problem, Lyse."

With her free hand, she gave me a small wave. "Bye."

I returned the wave. "Bye." I stood at the door and my dad brushed past me to drive the family back home. I watched the car back out of the parking spot and leave the lot. I smiled. Another family had been saved thanks to Dad, but they would never be the same. They would forever know that scary, unexplained things exist in this world, but they were safe, and that comforted me.


	3. Symapthy for the devil

_**Disclaimer**_

_**Chapter Two**_

**Sympathy For The Devil**

November 3rd, 2006

Jefferson City, Missouri

_Dean_

_Have some sympathy and some taste_

_Use all your well-learned politesse_

Dad stood in the middle of the room. His eyes glowed yellow from the Demon that had a hold of him. Not just any Demon, _the_ Demon; the same Demon that killed my mother and Sam's girlfriend. It had Sam and I pinned to the wall. The Colt I'd had in my hands was now on the floor at Dad's feet. Of all the people in this world to possess, it had to be Dad, one of the few I would _not_ kill even if my life depended on it. This Demon knew how to play Its cards better than any evil thing I'd faced, and It had just dealt us a dangerous, unstable hand – a hand that could only be played one way; in favour of the Demon. The son of a bitch.

Dad bent down and picked up the Colt. He held it up to his face, almost as if he were staring it down. "What a pain in the ass this thing's been."

I struggled. I wanted out of his grip, but he was too strong. I had no choice but to relax; I wasn't getting out that easily.

"It's you, isn't it?" Sam spoke. It was more of a statement than a question. "We've been looking for you for a long time."

Dad looked up at my brother. The smile on his face made my skin crawl. "Well, you found me." He sounded a lot more amused than I thought he should've been.

"But the holy water…" Sam sounded just as confused as I was now. Holy water always worked on Demons.

"You think something like that works on something like me?"

Holy water didn't effect him? What the hell? We were in way over our heads this time.

I could hear anger and fear settling into Sam's body. His breath quickened, become harsher. My little brother was scared and there was nothing I could do.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

_How, Sammy?_ I wondered. _How? We're pinned to the wall and he has the Colt_.

That skin-crawling smile grew bigger on Dad's face and I shuddered.

"Oh, that'd be a neat trick. In fact," Dad set the Colt on the table in front of him, "here. Make the gun float to you there, Psychic Boy."

Oh, God, no. It was bad enough he had Sam scared half to death, now he was taunting him? This Demon would die a slow and amazingly painful death. I would make sure of it.

I looked over at my brother. Concentration was thick in his face, his eyes fixed on the gun on the table. He was trying, – _desperately_ trying – to raise that gun from the table… Would he? Defeat wrote itself all over his face a moment later, and he passed me an apologetic look. Failure was not something he took easily.

A small, amused laugh escaped Dad and he looked between Sam and myself. "You know, this is fun. I could've killed you a hundred times today; but this, this is worth the wait." He turned to me. "Your Dad, he's in here with me; trapped inside his own meat suit. He says 'Hi' by the way. He's gonna tear you apart. He's gonna taste the iron in your blood."  
A lump formed in my throat that I couldn't get rid of. I shot Dad a hard glare. "Let him go, or I swear to God–"

"What?" He cut me off and approached me. "What are you and God gonna do? You see, as far as I'm concerned, this is justice."

What the hell? Justice? Justice for what? What did we do?

"You know that little exorcism of yours?" he asked. "That was my daughter."

I felt my eyes widening and a feeling of guilt fill my stomach. "Who, Meg?"

"And the one in the alley?" he continued. "That was my boy. You understand?"

I couldn't believe it. I'd killed his children. But this was the Demon. Why the hell was I feeling remorse for this? I should've been more than happy those Demons were gone.

"You've got to be kidding me," I managed to barely whisper. Why did I feel so bad?

"What? You're the only one that can have a family?" The smile on Dad's face melted. This Demon was serious. He gave me a hard stare. "You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family?" A smile of realization spread across his face and he took a breath. "Oh, that's right, I forgot. I did." Now that smile was one of pure satisfaction, and it made me sick. "Still, two wrongs don't make a right."

I swallowed. "You son of a bitch." If he was looking for sympathy, he wasn't getting it here – not one tiny smidgen of it. He killed my future and destroyed Sam's dreams. All he deserved, was a one-way trip to death.

"I wanna know why," Sam spoke, his voice taut, his anger more than crystal clear. "Why'd you do it?"

Dad turned to Sam, that smile back on his face. "You mean, why'd I kill Mommy and pretty little Jess?"

I was barely able to suppress a growl for that comment. Who the fuck did he think he was mocking them that way? I wanted to kill him right here and now, the bastard.

"Yeah," Sam replied shortly.

Dad turned back to me. "Y'know, I never told you this, but Sam was going to ask her to marry him. He'd been shopping for rings and everything."

Another wave of guilt washed over me; this one bigger than the first. Sam had really been going to ask Jess to marry him? I tore him away from that… I asked him to do that job on Five Mile Road with me, giving the Demon ample time to claim Jess. It was my fault. If I hadn't have asked Sam to come with me… He was so close to living the dream he'd always wanted. Thanks to me, Sam hadn't been there to protect Jess… What had I done?…

Dad walked over to Sam, the look of pure evil and haunting in his eyes. "You wanna know why? Because they got in the way."

"In the way of what?" Sam demanded.

"My plans for you, Sammy. You, and all the children like you."

What plans did he have for my brother? What hand was he going to deal us next? I swallowed and pushed my confusion to the back of my mind. He wouldn't leave Sam alone; I had to intervene – for Sam's sake.

"Listen," I spoke up, "you mind just getting this over with, huh? 'Cause I really can't stand the monologuing."

Dad turned in my direction sharply. "Funny." His voice was thick with sarcasm. "But, that's all part of your M.O., isn't it?" He approached me again. "To mask all that nasty pain; mask the truth."

_Dammit._ He was getting to me. My plate of armour was cracking. I couldn't let him see it; I _wouldn't_.

I smiled, cocky, my eyes hard. "Oh yeah? What's that?" What truth was I masking?

He took a breath, his yellow eyes bearing down into mine. "You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is: They don't need you; not like you need them."

What the hell was he saying? I didn't believe it. I knew my dad and Sam – especially Sam – needed me just as much as I needed them, if not more. This Demon knew my family meant the world to me and It was using it against me. Family was important to everyone. Even _It_.

Dad took another breath. "Sam," he continued. "He's clearly John's favourite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you."

I could feel my bottom lip beginning to quiver slightly. Shit. I was faltering. I couldn't; I couldn't let him get to me.

The smile returned to my lips. "I bet you're real proud of your kids too." My eyes, my expression mirrored his from when he made the comment about how I would feel if he killed my family. The look of realization, the smile of satisfaction. I inhaled. "Oh, wait, I forgot. I wasted 'em."

Dad's eyes shifted downwards. Inwardly, I begged the anger I knew he had towards me would subside and he would berate me verbally. Verbal abuse was something I was used to – no thanks to the man whose body the Demon was occupying – but physical abuse was not something I dealt with easily.

His eyes met mine suddenly, hard and angry. In all truth, it scared me. A lot. The look in his eyes told me he was about to do something to one of us. _Please not Sam. Don't hurt Sammy… Don't hurt my brother…_

_Okay_. He Demon's voice was inside my head, low and angry. _As you wish._

His stare hardened and time seemed to slow. A great deal more pressure closed in on my body. My back was pressed against the wall harder; so hard it hurt. Air rushed into my lungs. What felt like the sharp points of a large animal's claws began to dig at my chest at my collarbone. I could feel my skin ripping, the sinews of my flesh tearing. It burned, like flames from a raging wildfire. It burned so badly, the blood escaping my torn flesh felt cool. It did nothing to numb the pain, however. A scream I wasn't even aware I could make escaped me. I could feel warm blood creeping up my throat, escaping my mouth, running over my bottom lip as the phantom claws cut through my flesh, down towards my heart. Another set of phantom talons clawed at me, these starting from the first set, diagonal, down towards the middle of my chest. Oh God. Any more and… No… not this way…

"Dad!" I cried. "Dad! Don't you let it kill me!" I wasn't one to plead; it sounded foreign to me, but I did not want It to kill me. Who would protect Sammy if I was gone? How would he survive the night if the Demon killed me? I knew Dad was in there. _He had to be!_

I could hear Sam calling my name, the same fear I felt all through my body in his voice. I couldn't die this way. Not to my own father! I _couldn't!_ I had to protect Sam, _I had to!_

I looked up. I could feel my strength fading and I was finding it hard and painful to breathe.

I swallowed. More blood escaped my mouth. My eyes stung and my vision grew watery. "Don't let it kill–"

The phantom claws dug deeper, making it harder and even more painful to breathe. "Dad! Please!"

"Dean!" Sam called. "No!" I could hear him struggling against the grip of the Demon's hold. There was nothing either of us could do. The Demon was winning…

My father smiled, his eyes shifting downwards. The extra pressure was lifting. I could feel my blood rushing back into my body; it felt strange, like I was unwillingly being filled with a sweet yet deadly substance, and it sent shivers all through me. I barely had enough strength to hold my head up, so I just let it hang.

"Stop it." _Dad!_ He had a hold on the Demon; he was fighting It! God, it did me good to hear my father's real voice again. "Stop it!"

I heard Sam fall to the floor; Dad had held on long enough to free Sammy… I then heard the familiar click of the Colt's hammer. I looked up, raising only my eyes since I didn't have the strength to raise my whole head. I didn't want to believe what I was seeing. Sam had the Colt aimed at Dad.

Dad still wore that skin-crawling smile. The Demon had gained the upper-hand again. "You kill me, you kill Daddy."

"I know." Sam's voice was solid. Oh God. He wasn't going to kill Dad, was he? He couldn't. After everything we'd been through trying to find him? No! He just _couldn't!_

Sam lowered his arm, and pulled the trigger. I didn't want to watch, but I couldn't look away. The bullet buried itself in Dad's right thigh, white light like electricity racing over his body, lighting up the room slightly.

The Demon's grip on me lifted all at once and my body crumpled, falling to the floor in a heap. I was unable to see Dad who I knew now lay motionless on the wooden floor. I took in a hard, hoarse breath, cringing with the pain that came with it.

"Dean." Sam's attention diverted to me almost immediately, and though I was comforted by his concern, I wanted to know how Dad was, and I was more than relieved my brother was okay. Sam rushed over, kneeling in front of me. "Dean, hey." His eyes looked over my bloody, weak body. I tried to hide a shiver; with the blood leaving my body, I was cold and nauseous.

"Oh God," Sam's voice was thick with fear, "you've lost a lot of blood."

I looked up at him, cringing inwardly at the level of concern on his face. Concern for me. "Where's Dad?" Dad had to be alright. He was a Winchester, and the strongest man I knew.

"He's right here," Sam answered, soft and soothing. "He's right here, Dean." Despite his tone of voice, I was still scared shitless and had to know _for sure_ that our father was okay.

"Go check on him," I whispered, fighting, trying to ignore how painful it was to just breathe, let alone speak.

"Dean…" Sam started to protest.

"Go check on him," I repeated. I was okay for now – it was Dad I was worried about.

Slowly, Sam stood up. I watched his shoulders tense as he rose the gun in both hands and inched towards our motionless father. I raised my head, my eyes locked on my two family members.

"Dad," Sam called softly. "Dad."

Oh God. Dad wasn't responding. No… He couldn't be–

"Sammy!" Dad raised his head, looking at Sam. His voice was loud and desperate; full of fear. It was a sound I had never heard come out of him – not until now. It scared me. Dad was never afraid of anything, or if he was, he never let it show. He had always seemed so fearless, so ready to take down the world of the Supernatural. Now, he seemed, somehow, more fragile, more _human_ than I saw him when I was a kid. I wasn't sure if I should be comforted or frightening by it.

"It's still alive," Dad said, his voice softer, but still desperate, "it's inside me, I can feel it." Dad looked at Sam, his eyes solid and demanding as they usually were. "You shoot me."

**_What?! _**He wanted Sam to shoot him? No… Now I wished we'd never found the damn Demon. This was the last thing I wanted. It was bad enough Sam had been ready to go back into that burning house in Salvation to kill the Demon. Now Dad wanted Sam to destroy the Demon with It still inside of him? This was crazy! He couldn't, Sam couldn't kill Dad!

"You shoot me," Dad continued, "you shoot me in the heart, son. Do it, now!"

"Sam," I was barely able to whisper, "don't you do it, don't you do it."

Sam's face was a cauldron of emotions. He didn't know what to do – he was being told two completely different things. Dad was ordering him to kill him, while I was begging him not to. He couldn't. I don't know what I would do if Dad was gone, especially if he were killed by his own son.

"Sam, you've got to hurry." Dad's voice was no less demanding than it was before, but there was a great deal more desperation. He really wanted Sam to do this. "I can't hold onto It much longer. Shoot me, son, shoot me! Son, I'm begging you. We could end this here and now. Sammy!"

I had to admit, ending everything here and now sounded wonderful, but not at the cost of a family member. Killing the Demon would come, but not now and most definitely _not_ this way.

"Sam, don't." I was struggling to make my voice heard through the pain I was in.

He blinked and swallowed; his hands shook slightly and I knew he'd heard me. He had to listen, he _had to!_

"You do this, Sammy!" Dad was yelling now, his words coming out as orders. He was _ordering_ Sam… No… I wanted to stop him. Sam had been through too much already with Jess's death; he didn't need this hanging over his head. _Damn you, Dad_.

Dad's body convulsed suddenly and he screamed. The moment he opened his mouth, the black form of the Demon, like thick black, evil smoke, rushed out, filling the air over his head. The room was filled with the smell of sulfur. Shit, it was strong. It burned my already burning lungs and I realized then that I'd been holding my breath. The entity of the Demon swirled for a moment before descending and disappearing, slipping between the floorboards.

Silence befell the room, heavy like an early morning fog after an overnight thunderstorm. I looked at Sam, then to Dad. A salty tear ran out of the side of my eye, falling onto the floor beneath me. I didn't want to believe Dad would ever give _that_ look to Sam. The same – _exact_ same – look he'd given me when that Shtriga had almost claimed my brother: Disappointment. Sure, that had been my fault – I'd left Sam alone, – but this… This was **_not_** Sammy's fault! How could Dad look at Sam that way? Sam had done the only thing he could to make sure everyone made it out alive! Wasn't Dad grateful we were all alive; even just a tiny bit?

I lay my head back on the floor, closing my eyes as another tear escaped my other eye, running over the bridge of my nose. I made no move to wipe it away; I just closed my eyes tighter. It broke my heart to see Dad the way he was. He should've been happy, not disappointed. _How could you, Dad?_

Dad was disappointed in Sam; I was disappointed in Dad.

_**-0o0o0-**_

Sam helped Dad and I to the Impala, Dad getting in the passenger seat, me in the back. Unable to hold myself up, I leaned against the driver's side rear door, my back in the corner of the seat and the door. Sam got in behind the wheel, got to the highway, then tore down it, pushing the car harder than I think she'd ever been pushed.

Dad and I both grimaced as the car hit a few bumps in the road. Dad was more vocal than I. At the moment, I didn't know if I was even strong enough to voice anything other than a short, quiet moan. I struggled to hide how cold I felt, struggled to appear strong…

What the fuck? Who was I trying to fool? Sam, I knew for sure, could see right through me. What was the point in trying to hide it now? If there was one thing I had to struggle for, it was my life. I couldn't give up; I had to protect Sammy. I couldn't leave him.

"Look," Sam spoke up, "just hold on, alright? The hospital's only ten minutes away."

Ten minutes? It sounded so close, yet seemed so far away. I swallowed. I had to hold on; just for a little while longer. If there was one good thing this life had taught me, it was to survive. I had something to live for: Family. I had to hang on – I couldn't leave them behind. And with a hospital only ten minutes away, I had to fight – I had to survive.

"I'm surprised at you, Sammy," I heard Dad speak up. I cringed. Disappointment lay thick in his voice. "Why didn't you kill It? I thought we saw eye-to-eye on this. Killing this Demon comes first; before me, before everything."

I closed my eyes. Had I not been so weak, I would have said something – _anything_ in Sammy's defense. Sure, there had been times when Sam had almost wanted nothing more than to find the bastard from Hell, but his objective had always been to find Dad just as much as me. I didn't understand how, after the struggles we'd all been through, he had the nerve to pull this on Sam; the nerve to pull this on both of us. Did he not care that we had all made it out alive? Did he not care he was saying this with a dying son in the backseat – a son who already questioned his worth to those around him? Those words stung deeply and brought a tidal wave of questions. What would happen when we found the Demon? Would Dad think twice about sacrificing himself, or Sam and I? What would Dad do if I didn't make it?

I met my brother's gaze in the rearview mirror – that look of apology, despair and not knowing what to do. He then found a solid expression and shook his head.

"No sir," he spoke, "not before everything." His voice was steady and slightly sharp. "Look, we've still got the Colt; we still have one bullet left. We can start over, alright?" He was trying to get Dad to see our side of things. I desperately hoped he would succeed.

"I mean," Sam continued, "we've already found the Demon once–"

My eyes were drawn to the passenger side by a pair of blinding white lights. Time seemed slow right down. It was there just long enough for me to make out the grille of a large tractor-trailer, rising like a row of teeth ready to eat the Impala whole.

My body was pulled to the right for only a second before I was lashed to the left. I felt like a ping-pong ball being exchanged between the world's two strongest men. I could see the window coming at me, feel the Impala skidding sideways, smell the gas and heat from the truck's grille. My head hit the window with such force, I thought the window would shatter. The pain was excruciating; white dots obscured my vision, but only for a moment. The dots, along with everything else – pain included – faded to darkness and I felt nothing.


	4. The Good Ole Hockey Game

_**Chapter Three**_

**The Good Ole Hockey Game**

November 2nd, 2006

Toronto, Ontario, Canada

_Lyse_

_The best game you can name,_

_Is the good ole hockey game_

Author's Note: To all those detail sticklers/hockey fans out there, I wrote this chapter before the NHL Season started and did not know what the Hockey schedule was going to be nor the standings.

"Lyse?"

"Mmm?" I poked my head out of the walk-in closet. My friend and roommate, Pageen, was staring at me from the doorway, one eyebrow raised. A hand landed itself on her hip.

"What are you doing in my closet?"

"Looking for something to wear," I replied.

Pageen rolled her eyes – her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes I envied her for. "Well, that's obvious."

I sighed, knowing what question was going to come next.

"Where are you going?"

I turned back around, burying myself in the neatly-kept closet. "To the game." _Where was that damn sweater?_

"The hockey game? With who?" I heard the bedsprings give under Pageen's weight.

"Mike," I answered shortly. Right now, my number one priority was finding that cozy black sweater I always stole off of my roommate.

"Mike Chaplin?" The level of disbelief in Pageen's voice was sickening. "The same Mike Chaplin who used to pick on you in ninth grade?"

It was my turn to roll my eyes though I knew she couldn't see it. "Yes, the same Mike Chaplin who used to pick on me in ninth grade."

"Really?" She was giving me that 'tell me more, this is entertaining' look; I could feel it. As she asked, I found what I'd been looking for.

"Ah ha!" I cheered in victory. "I found you." I took the sweater from the hanger, quickly throwing it on over the blue t-shirt I already had on. I turned, satisfied and ready to leave the closet. Pageen was still giving me that look. I sighed. "He got a couple of tickets from work, he knows I'm an avid hockey fan, so he asked me if I wanted to go with him–"

"And you said, yes," Pageen finished, amusement thick in her voice.

I folded my arms across my chest. "It's a hockey game; need I say more?" From September till June, hockey was to me what chocolate was to Pageen. Every Monday, Thursday and Saturday night was spent watching Canada's Game, whether I was at work or at home.

Pageen snorted, a laugh following. "Uh huh, sure."

I hated it when she did this, which was every time I went out with a male friend. "Pageen," I whined.

She giggled, apparently royally amused by my agony of being teased by her. She got up off of the bed, shooing me out of her room. "Who are we playing?" I took note of her sudden change of subject, but didn't question it.

"Montréal," I replied, heading for the stairs.

"Ooh," came Pageen's reply, "sibling rivalry." She followed me into the kitchen. "Well, you know who I'll be rooting for."

Yeah, I knew – Montréal, her hometown. Like me, Pageen wasn't from Toronto. We both came here twelve years ago, Pageen from Montréal, myself from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin. We met four years later in high school. I was in grade nine, she was in grade eleven. Despite my being from Wisconsin, I had quickly grown a love for the Toronto Maple Leafs and watched every game. Pageen; however, maintained her Montréal lineage and always supported them. Sometimes I thought it was just to piss me off, but I loved her.

"Of course," I answered. "But this should be a good game."

"Aren't Toronto and Montréal tied for third?" Pageen asked.

I nodded. "They are. Both teams have been really good so far."

"The season's not over yet," Pageen pointed out.

"That's true, no it's not."

Pageen sat at the breakfast table, watching me wander around, gathering a few last minute provisions as I always did. Last Minute Lyse – that was me. I always waited until the last minute to do anything, whether it was an essay for school or getting ready to go out. Tonight was no exception. I swear, if I ever got an award for something, it would be for getting ready with just enough time to run out the door. Somehow, despite that, I always managed to get to where I had to go about ten minutes before I had to be there.

I could tell, tonight, Pageen was amused by this. Any other time, she would be annoyed to no end and almost yelling at me to get moving, while still maintaining a cool and calm attitude. I don't know how she did it.

"So, where are you sitting?" Pageen asked, as I pulled my head out of the fridge. I held four apples in my hands. Food was so expensive down at the Air Canada Centre that it was just easier and cheaper to bring your own. Drinks I'd get there, but not food.

I grinned, a giggle escaping me. I suddenly felt giddy and light on my feet. I practically danced over to the table, where I threw the apples into a plastic bag. "Behind the Leafs' bench."

Pageen gaped at me, wide-eyed. "You're kidding."

I shook my head, smiling widely. "Nope."

"Nice. I guess you'll–"

The sound of a car horn interrupted Pageen and sent me racing through the kitchen to the foyer. Pageen threw a few granola bars into the bag with the apples, while I shoved my feet into my shoes and pushed my arms through the sleeves of my jacket.

"What time will you be home tonight?" Pageen was shoving the bag of granola bars and apples into my arms.

"I won't. I'm spending the night at Mike's."

"Excuse me?" Those hands were at those hips again.

I sighed, fighting back an eye roll. "He lives like right around the corner from the ACC. It's just easier on him for me to spend the night."

"Mmm-hmm." Apparently, my roommate didn't believe me.

"What?" I mimicked her stance. "Would you rather him driving me home from a _hockey game_ at twelve-thirty in the morning, or me staying the night at his place and coming home at twelve-thirty the next afternoon?"

Pageen's hands dropped from her hips – the sign that she'd been defeated – and nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Just call me when you're on your way tomorrow."

"Yes, mother."

She slapped my arm lightly. "Alright, get going; he's waiting." She might as well have pushed me out the front door. "Have fun."

"Oh, I will," I replied and headed down the driveway.

Mike was leaning against the hood of his car. He saw me and with an amused smile on his face, checked his watch.

He looked up as I approached him. "Last Minute Lyse," he said with a chuckle.

"Would you expect anything less?" I quipped.

"Of course not," he played along. "C'mon."

We got in the car and headed out for the game.

_**-0o0o0-**_

The game was intense – any game between the Original Six Hockey teams was. The game was tied 3-3 and there was about five minutes left in the third period. I was yelling at my team to seize an opportunity and take a shot. We _had_ to win. If we won this game, it would put the Leafs two points ahead of the Canadiens – and give me bragging rights at home.

I was almost positive I was pissing off the players in the box, but hey – I'm passionate about what I like.

Mike was beside me, standing as Darcy Tucker gained control of the puck and began a breakaway. Mike's words were slurred and I knew who would be driving home. But, with that aside, the rest of the arena was on their feet as Tucker wove his way through the Montréal defensemen, before passing the puck to Sundin, who took it and sent it into the Montréal net. The crowd was deafening and absolutely crazy.

The last ninety seconds went by quickly, ending with a nearly deaf me, my voice almost gone and Mike almost three-sheets to the wind.

It took a while, but Mike and I worked our way out of the arena and started for Mike's car. I watched Mike pull his keys out of his pocket and that's when I made my move. I reached over and snatched his keys from his hand.

He stopped and stared at me. He swayed slightly on his feet. "What're you doing? What'd you do that for?"

"Because you're drunk and I'm not going to let you drive the car," I told him seriously.

"Ah, c'mon Lyse. You had a couple of drinks too," he protested.

"Exactly! A _couple_. I saw you get up at least six times for a beer," I said, "I'm not letting you drive."

"Lyse," he continued. "I'm fine. Give me the keys." He started to reach for them.

I pulled my hand back. Mike – a good friend, but somewhat annoying when drunk. "No, Mike. You're not driving."

He made another grab for the keys and that was the last straw for me. I put the keys into the one place I knew he wouldn't dare go after them – my bra.

He stared at me, wide-eyed. "You didn't just do that…"

"I did," I spoke sharply. "Now, we have three choices here: We can walk, take a cab or I can drive home. I know you're not gonna want to walk and you're not gonna take a cab. And you're _definitely_ _not_ going to leave your car in that parking lot over night. That leaves us with only one option left."

"Why Lyse?"

And here was where I struggled to keep myself from strangling him. "Because you're drunk and if you drive that car, you're compromising your safety, my safety and the safety of everyone else on that road with you. I'm not going to say it again, Mike. I'm _not_ letting you drive."

I watched his eyes roll and his shoulders slump. "Alright, fine. You drive home."

_Finally_. "Thank you. Let's go."

We continued to the car, got in and after paying a ridiculous parking fee, headed for his condo.

_**-0o0o0-**_

The journey to Mike's condo was uneventful, for which I was grateful. Mike was now passed out on the couch and I knew he wouldn't be going anywhere and would wake up with a slight hangover. I was standing at the living room window looking out over the Lake, trying to ignore the throbbing headache taking up residency in my forehead and behind my eyes. It felt like a stress headache, but the only form of stress I had tonight was keeping Mike from driving home drunk. For me, that usually wasn't enough to cause a headache of any size. I didn't remember Pageen being stressed about anything, besides the fact that I was spending the night here. But Pageen was the calmest person on this earth even on the most hectic of days. Hell, even when she was yelling at me to get a move-on, she had this unexplainable aura of calm about her.

I sighed. Sometimes having empathy had its downfalls. For me, it was whenever anyone bonded to me – someone like Pageen or my parents and siblings – was in pain or distress, I felt it. The only thing was, I was never always sure of who it was – although, there were often "signs" that gave me some idea. This was different though. It didn't feel familiar and that unnerved me slightly.

Not wanting to dwell on it and give this headache a roommate, I ignored it and dismissed it as coming from someone I knew. _Mike maybe?_ Dismissing what I couldn't explain often helped me feel a bit better about them.

I turned and went into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. I sat down at the dining room table, facing the wall, all the lights off – save for the one on the television unit. My headache flared, sending the room for a minor spin. I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I wished I knew where this headache was coming from. Maybe it was my own. I sighed. This was going to be an interesting night and I knew tomorrow would be even better.

_Yeah right_.


	5. Canadian Sunrise

_**Chapter Four**_

**Canadian Sunrise**

November 3rd – 4th, 2006

Toronto, Ontario, Canada

_Lyse_

_When a shot of gold hits your eyes_

_Canadian Sunrise_

I love sunrises. The hues of colour they paint the sky, the tranquility they seem to represent, and that they signal the start of a new day; a fresh start for everything. Kind of like a miniature version of New Years, minus the resolutions. Well, minus the huge resolutions like quitting smoking or shedding a number of pounds – both of which I had accomplished as part of New Year's Resolutions. Everyone I knew didn't think I'd be able to do it. Some of my colleagues even created a bet both years to see whether or not I could do it. I wasn't sure if it was because I'd proven them all wrong was the reason I was so proud, or the fact I'd actually accomplished a major goal.

The sound of denim rubbing against felt drew my attention away from the multicoloured sky. Mike was sitting up. He eventually got to the upright position, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Maybe last night's headache had been Mike's after all.

A loud, long sigh escaped him. His left hand concealed the entirety of the left side of his face as though he couldn't hold his head up on his own. One strikingly bright blue eye looked over at me. His eyes were normally bright, but the fact they were bloodshot made them appear even brighter.

I smirked. "'Morning sunshine."

He groaned, running a hand through his disheveled mop of blonde hair. Normally that mop was gelled neatly in place. "Last night was interesting."

I snorted. "You can say that again." I headed for the kitchen. "You ready for some breakfast, big guy?" When I said big guy, I meant it literally – the guy was 6'5" with a medium-large build. Next to little 5'2" me, he seemed like Paul Bunyan.

"If it'll help me get rid of this hangover, hell yeah," Mike replied.

I poked my head into the living room. "Something to get rid of that hangover you say?" I smiled. "I know exactly what to fix you."

"What?"

I grinned. "The Aizik Family Omelette."

_**-0o0o0-**_

Within ten minutes, Mike and I were sitting at the kitchen table eating the Aizik Family Omelette with toast and coffee. The Aizik Family Omelette was something that had been in the family since my grandmother was about fifteen – she was now eighty-six. She'd passed it down to my mother, who in turn passed it down to my siblings and myself. In all actuality, the Omelette wasn't anything special – eggs; cheese; green, yellow and sweet red peppers; a few mushrooms and just a touch of cinnamon for flavour. I knew my family wasn't the only one who had a "special recipe" – hell, some other family probably that the same Omelette.

Mike and I exchanged our favourite moments of last night's game, which took us to about noon. With everything done and the dishes in the dishwasher, I was thinking about heading home. Until my cell phone rang.

"Lyse?" It was my brother, Keith. By the tone of question in his voice, I had a feeling as to what he was going to ask. "I know this is short notice, but could you take Sally for the weekend?"

"Business trip?" I asked.

I heard him sigh. "Yeah. They sprung it on Andrea and I this morning." His boss had a tendency to do that, but it meant more money for them and that they were trusted. Plus, I got to spend the weekend with my five month old, niece.

"Where to this time?"

Keith laughed. "Y'know, if you didn't have to look after Sally and didn't have school Monday, and if Miriam wasn't working overtime this weekend, I'd get you guys to come with me."

Now I was confused. How did Miriam and I factor into this? "Why? Where are you going?"

"Saturday morning I'm in Chippewa Falls."

"Home?" I asked. "Well, you shouldn't have any trouble finding your way around there."

"No kidding," he chuckled. "Yeah, well, Sunday morning, I'm in Houston."

"Houston?" _Lyle_. My eyes widened.

He nearly guffawed. "If I run into Lyle, I'll say hi for you."

I smiled. I hadn't seen Lyle in a good four years and hadn't spoken to him in about two or three months. I met Lyle Boyce six years ago while on one of the road trips my family took every year. That year, we were in Houston, Texas; and a couple of days after we got there, I met Lyle. We dated for the three weeks I was there and promised to keep in touch. Surprisingly enough, we managed to, and my family even spent a Christmas with him and his then newly-wed wife four years ago. Now, Lyle and Trisha had a two year old son and seven month old baby girl.

"Yeah, I've been meaning to give him a ding, but definitely. If you see him, say hi," I said. "Anyway, when do you need me to get Sal?"

He laughed sheepishly. "Now? My flight leaves in five hours."

It was my turn to nearly guffaw. "And they say I wait until the last minute?"

I could practically see him roll his eyes at me. "Shut up."

I giggled. "Yeah. I'll get Mike to swing by before he takes me home."

"Mike?" I could hear the amused smile. "What's this? Did my sister go on a date last night?"

I rolled my eyes. "It was just a Hockey Game and I went with Mike Chaplin."

"Ah." At least he understood the relationship I had with Mike. Friends and friends only. "I guess he got the tickets through work?"

"Yeah. Now, we've got to get off the phone so I can get Sal before you miss your flight."

Keith laughed. "Alright. So, I'll see you in about thirty?"

"Thirty to forty-five."

"Okay. I'll see you then, and be careful."

"You know I will."

I hung up and after relaying everything to Mike, we left.

_**-0o0o0-**_

I had Sally in my arms while Andrea strapped the car seat into the back of Mike's car.

I looked over to my brother. "Anything else you need while I'm here?"

The famous Keith Aizik 'don't-kill-me' expression greeted me. "A ride to the airport?"

I couldn't help but laugh. _Typical_. I looked through the driver's side window at Mike, who was still sitting in the passenger seat. I silently asked him Keith's question, followed up by my puppy-dog eyes.

Mike rolled his eyes and sighed almost immediately – the sign I'd won. "Yeah, alright."

I grinned. I rarely ever denied my siblings anything and Mike knew that.

"I love you." Keith kissed my cheek and ruffled my hair.

"Yeah, I know you do," I replied. "Only 'cause I can't say no to you."

Keith looked at me. "That goes both ways you know."

I gave him a wide smile. "I know."

Andrea pulled herself out of the backseat, wiping her hands together. "Okay, almost all set. I'm just going to grab our bags and we'll be ready to go."

I watched my sister-in-law go into the house, feeling a little out of place. Everyone around me – Keith, Mike, Sally and Andrea – were all blue-eyed blondes. I was the odd one out. And not just right here right now. My entire family – with the exception of my sister's boyfriend and a couple of cousins – had blue eyes and bombshell blonde hair. _My_ eyes were sea-green and my hair was a deep shade of red. Along with that, I looked nothing like my parents and siblings. The Aiziks weren't my biological parents; they had adopted me when I was six months old after my parents were killed in a house fire. How I survived, I didn't actually know, although I presumed either the Fire Department or a neighbour had rescued me. When I was eleven or twelve, I started to realize I looked nothing like anyone else, so I asked – rather bluntly – if I was adopted. That's when I found out. At first, I wasn't sure what to think, but now, it didn't matter whether or not I was adopted; they were the only family I knew and I loved them.

"We're ready." Andrea's voice brought me back to reality. She was standing in front of the trunk with an expectant look on her face.

I smirked. "You wouldn't be waiting for something, would you?"

She cocked her head to the side, playing along. "However did you guess?"

I laughed and after setting Sally in her car seat, I opened the front door and reached for the trunk release.

"Thank you," Andrea cooed.

While my brother and sister-in-law loaded their luggage into Mike's trunk, I finished buckling my niece in her car seat. Andrea shut the trunk and the three of us piled into the car.

_**-0o0o0-**_

Talk about taking the long way home. I started my journey at Mike's condo, which was practically at the southern most central point of Toronto – just one block from Lake Ontario. A last minute phone call had me heading forty-five minutes up to my brother's 1.2 Million dollar home on the Bridal Path (one of the most – if not _the most_ – expensive residential areas in all of Toronto), then on another forty-five minute drive to Pearson Airport in the west end, then back past Mike's condo, and down to the Beaches to my house on the Lake. Well, it wasn't _my_ house exactly. Pageen was in it before I moved in. Speaking of whom, she was home early. Her grey 2007 Voltzwagon Rabbit was blocking my black 2005 Chevy Impala.

"No more errands?" Mike asked, now behind the wheel, as I removed my niece and her car seat from his car. He gave me a hopeful look.

I laughed. "No. I'm staying put. Until Monday for school."

"Of course."

"Thanks for taking me to the game," I said softly.

"No problem," he answered. "And thanks for the omelette."

"Anytime. I'll see you later." I adjusted Sally and my grip on the car seat and headed for the door.

"Oh, and Lyse!" I heard him call after me.

I turned around. He was suddenly finding the cracked asphalt driveway appealing. He looked up half a minute later. "Thanks for not letting me drive home."

I smiled. "You're welcome."

"You're a good friend."

"You know it." I winked. "I'll see you later."

"Take care."

"Ditto."

Mike backed out of the driveway and headed up the street. I turned and headed inside, and was greeted by three very enthusiastic dogs. Two of them – a two year old Miniature Dachshund named Lincoln and a three year old Miniature Schnauzer named Keifer – were Pageen's, while Pepper, the six-month old Welsh Cardigan Corgi was mine.

"Pageen?" I called, winding my way around the welcoming party.

"I'm in the kitchen."

It was then I caught the smells of melted cheese, baked mushrooms and sausage. I was confused. I made that left turn into the kitchen. "Today's Friday… Pizza night?"

Pageen laughed. "It is." She opened the oven door, slipping her yellow oven mitts on over her hands. "I just finished making it."

"Oh." I set the car seat on the floor just inside the kitchen. Maneuvering around Sally, I made my way out of my jacket. I draped it over a chair at the breakfast table, then sat down. "We're babysitting again."

Pageen turned around. She set the pizza on the stovetop, then came over to Sally, who was now in my lap. "Hello Sal."

My niece laughed and reached out to my friend. Pageen bent down and gave Sally a kiss on her forehead.

"Keith and Andrea on another business trip?" Pageen asked, heading back over to the stove.

"Yeah. Either I'll drop her off Monday after school, or they'll pick her up Monday night. You're off Monday, right?"

Pageen nodded. "I am." She looked at me over her shoulder. "Set the table; we'll be eating in a minute."

_**-0o0o-**_

By seven o'clock, Sally was asleep, by nine the dogs were walked and by ten, I had finished wrestling with Pepper and was ready for bed. With Pepper at my stomach, I found myself falling asleep rather quickly.

I remained that way until about 4 AM. A burning seeped into the left side of my chest and I was finding a little painful to breathe. I didn't know what to make of it.

The worst case scenario rushed through my mind. What if my Grandma Morgan was having a heart attack?

I leapt out of bed, racing for the phone. I dialed the number; I twisted the phone cord around my index finger. "C'mon, c'mon… pick up, pick up." This was when I cursed the whole empathy thing I had going on.

"Hello?" My grandmother's groggy voice came over the line after the fourth ring.

"Grandma, it's Lyse. Are you alright?"

"Yes, dear; I'm fine."

I nearly collapsed in relief.

"Why, what's wrong, sweetie?"

"I just woke up with chest pains," I explained. "I thought you were having a heart attack. I mean, the last time I had something like this, it was Grandma Aizik."

"Yeah, I remember that," Grandma Morgan said. "But I'm fine. Maybe it was your mom with heartburn again."

"Maybe." Considering the place of the burning, I doubted it, but I didn't want to worry her. "Sorry for waking you at this un-Godly hour."

"No problem, sweetie. Better safe than sorry."

That was true. "Yeah. Alright, I'll talk to you later."

I hung up and just stood there, gazing around the dark hallway. Now that I thought about it, this didn't feel anything like my mother's heartburn or even my sister's asthma. It was almost like I'd been scratched, but only enough for it to burn slightly.

I went into the bathroom and after my eyes adjusted to the bright pair of 60 Watt light bulbs, I caught the beginnings of two separate groups of four red marks on the left side of my chest. I pulled the bodice of my nightshirt down. One set ran straight down, starting at my collarbone, ending over my heart, while the second set ran from my collarbone diagonally, halting in the centre of my chest.

When could I have been scratched like that? Maybe while I was wrestling with Pepper? But that was six hours ago. But who knows, maybe it was. _Maybe_. Despite my telling myself this, I had a hammer at the back of my mind banging at me – there was more to this than just my six month old puppy.

My head flared suddenly. The bathroom light grew blinding and I had to shut my eyes. The pain was nearly paralyzing. Then, just as quickly as the headache had flared, it was gone, along with the burning in my chest. The scratch marks remained, but the pain was gone.

I wracked my brain trying to find a reasonable explanation for this. I wracked and prodded so long and hard, a headache of my own was moving in.

Soft whining at the other side of the door told me Pepper was waiting for me to go back to bed. I left the bathroom and got back into bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, listening to the window-muffled sound of the lake waves rolling onto the beach just on the other side of the yard fence one floor below.

_The scratches are from Pepper_, I repeated over and over until I believed it. The burning, painful breathing and sudden headache I put into the Unexplained Occurrences file in the back of my mind. I closed my eyes, and with Pepper back at my stomach, fell asleep.


	6. Hello

_**Chapter Five**_

**Hello**

November 2nd – November 3rd, 2007

Jefferson City, Missouri

_Dean_

_Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping_

I shivered. The veil of unconsciousness was slowly lifting. I reached down, but didn't touch the roll of covers I thought should've been there. Instead I touched a cold, slightly creased bedspread. What the heck? I was lying on top of the covers. In my clothes and shoes.

"Shit," I mumbled. What the hell was going on? It felt like someone had shoved everything from pebbles to bedrock into my arms and legs. My head throbbed. I rolled over, which proved to be rather difficult – more difficult than it realistically should have – and opened my eyes. I shut them again to shield the sunlight streaming in through the breaks in the partially drawn curtains. What the heck was I doing lying on _top_ of the covers? And why I was still fully dressed?

I struggled to force myself into a sitting position. I looked around the empty motel room, slightly disoriented. The bed closest to the window was empty and neatly made. I didn't hear the water running. Nor did I hear any movement in the bathroom. Sam must've gone out to a diner down the street for breakfast while I was asleep. Maybe… But, wait… Why wouldn't he wake me up to see if I wanted anything? Why would he leave while I was still sleeping?

Speaking of sleep… Crap, how long _had_ I been out? My head felt thick; I felt like I'd been asleep for a week at least. When had I laid down? I rested my forehead in my hand, furrowing my brow, trying to remember. Funny… I couldn't remember anything. Not a damn thing. I rubbed my eyes and took another look around the room. I looked over to the empty bed, my eyes drifting to the floor. A duffle bag – Sam's I presumed – sat at the foot of the bed. I looked to the floor at the bottom of my bed. What the fuck? Why was there only one duffle bag? Where mine _should've_ been, was the worn brown carpet of the motel room. I rubbed my eyes again and blinked hard. Maybe I was still in the process of waking up…

My eyes were drawn to the door. A key was being put into the lock. The door opened and Sam stepped through. With _one_ take-out bag in his hand.

I managed to pull a smirk and I raised my hands in question. "Where's mine?"

He didn't look up – didn't even give the slightest movement of acknowledging me. I stood up and walked over to him. Well, more like _stumbled_ over to him. He still didn't look up.

"Uh, Sam?" Was this some kind of joke? If it was, it was pretty lame.

He moved past me and sat on the bed. I followed and sat next to him. His head snapped to where the bed sank under my weight. Confusion caused lines of question to crease his forehead.

"What the hell?" His voice was tired and slightly hoarse. He looked away from me after a moment, shaking his head, his eyes losing focus. He dropped his face into his hands, a tired sigh escaping him. He raised his head and opened his eyes, staring into the bathroom. That's was when I noticed the dark, heavy bags under his eyes – he looked like he hadn't slept in months. He looked like he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. I studied him for a moment, my eyes narrowed in slight confusion. When did his hair get so long? His bangs were now below his eyes and the rest might as well have been resting on his shoulders. When was the last time he saw a barber? Something was taking its toll on him. What was wrong? Was he caught in the middle of a grueling hunt? Dad wasn't asking too much of him, was he? Where _was_ Dad? Did Dad send Sam back to the motel while he finished up? Was Dad even in the same state? I figured he wasn't; he rarely ever was. Was Sam on his own for this hunt? Was Sam okay?

"Sam?" I asked. He didn't flinch. "Sam?" I waved my hand in front of his face. "Earth to Sammy." Still nothing. My brows furrowed. He couldn't see me? Why? What was wrong? This was unbelievable. This felt like some evil practical joke… Or maybe I was hoping it was?

Sam and I were notorious for pulling horrible pranks on each other – the Nair I put in his shampoo, the itching powder I put in his underwear and then there was the crazy glue Sam put on my beer bottle and the shaving cream he put in my boots – but this took the cake. But would Sam even think of something his bad? _Could_ he think of anything remotely _close_ to this? Something told me no, but I was hoping…

Sam groaned, running his hands over the length of his face. "I'm going to bed right after supper."

I blinked. Supper? What the hell? What time was it anyway? My eyes searched the room for a clock. I found a digital one on the table between the two beds. 4:30. Okay… I know I was a heavy sleeper, but I was always up long before now…

I felt the bed rise slightly. The take-out bag had replaced Sam. I heard the bathroom door close, closely followed by the sound of running water. I looked at the stapled-shut bag on the bed beside me. Whatever was in it, it sure smelt good. My stomach grumbled angrily as though it had been empty for weeks. Now that I thought about it, it felt like it _had_ been empty for weeks. I looked to the closed bathroom door then to the closed bag. Should I? Or wait until Sam was finished his shower and ask? Yeah, maybe I should wait… But, hold on… From the moment he entered the motel room, he didn't even acknowledge my presence. Not only that, my brother was gaunt, tired and just plain sad. But why? What had him like this? And why couldn't he see me? Or hear me? This didn't make any sense.

In my trance, I hadn't realized I had opened the bag and had started chowing down on the fries. Oh shit, this was Sam's supper. I heard the water shut off, and I hastily put the half of the fries I _hadn't_ eaten back into the bag. I stood up, licking the salt and grease off of my fingers. I wiped my hands on my jeans and went to sit at the kitchen table. I stared at the bag, then looked down to my still greasy fingers. I just ate half of those fries. I actually _ate_ the fries. My confusion level went up another five notches, and a small seed of fear planted itself in the pit of my stomach. I was capable of touching inanimate objects and of eating, yet my own brother couldn't see or hear me? What the hell? What was going on?

Sam came out of the bathroom, clad in a t-shirt and his boxers – his sleeping garb -, his hair wet and _not_ combed back. This was very unlike him – he always had his hair combed back after a shower.

I watched him head over to his bed and stop short when he noticed the open bag. _Dammit_. In my haste, I'd forgotten to at least roll the top closed. Great. Now, I'd left Sam even more confused than he was when I'd sat down beside him.

I drummed my fingers on the kitchen table. Why _had_ Sam been confused earlier? It wasn't like I'd never sat down on the same bed with him before. I mean, shit, I used to _sleep_ in the same bed with him in the years after Mom died. What was going on?

"Maybe I opened it before I had my shower," Sam mused. Confusion and fatigue marred his voice. He sat down and I watched him pull out the closed Styrofoam box of now half-eaten fries. He opened it and his confusion turned to annoyance. "They chipped me again." He sighed. "Whatever."

I found myself sighing in relief. Huh… so the diner's chipped him before? And he didn't care? Something was definitely wrong. He was never really one to continuously complain about anything, but he never just shrugged things off with a "whatever" either. What the hell had him so exhausted and gaunt?

He unwrapped a cheeseburger and almost immediately bit into hit. Relief washed itself over his face. I blinked, looking from my brother to the bedside clock. That burger was gone in less than five minutes. I'd never seen him eat that fast since we were kids. But even then, he was never nearly as hungry as he appeared to be right now…

"What's going on, Sam? What's wrong?" I asked. I was worried. Well, worried wasn't the right word. I was downright scared with what was going on. I mean, here I was, sitting at the kitchen table _watching_ him and he wasn't even making any notions he knew I was here. It looked like he couldn't even _feel_ my gaze on him.

Sam crumpled the burger wrapper, setting it inside the empty Styrofoam box as he always did, and shoved the box in the bag. He threw the bag into the wastebasket and drew the covers back on the bed. He sat down, rubbing his eyes. What seemed like the hundredth time that evening, a sigh escaped him. He yawned immediately after. He looked at the down pillow for a short moment, before laying down.

I furrowed my brow. Bed? At five o'clock in the afternoon? Sure, Sam was known to go to bed early sometimes, but never _this_ early… Although… I yawned. Now that I thought about it, going to bed sounded like a wonderful idea, despite the amount of sleep I was sure I'd gotten.

I started to stand up. Bad idea. The ancient, worn, yet somehow warm, brown carpet ended just a few feet after my bed, revealing an equally worn hardwood floor. Moving metal chair legs did _not_ move over old hardwood floors silently…

The chair scraped across the floor loudly, causing Sam to abruptly sit up. He stared at the now-pushed-out chair, wide-eyed. Fear had now joined the fatigue in his bloodshot eyes. He swallowed and slowly looked from the chair to his duffle bag several times, which made me hope he would retrieve what I thought he was thinking about retrieving. Maybe, just maybe, it would confirm what I was really beginning to believe and fear.

"Get it, Sam," I pleaded. "Get the EMF."

But Sam was just sitting there, staring at the chair again. The fear in his eyes a moment ago was now disbelief and confusion. He ran a hand through his mop, then with a loud sigh, collapsed back onto the bed.

"God, this job," he spoke, "it fucks you up."

He was telling me. After twenty-three years, it did a lot more than that.

He adjusted himself on the pillow and rolled over. He didn't make another sound.

I waited about thirty minutes – just to be sure – before laying down on the other bed as quietly as I could. I didn't dare get underneath the covers despite the coolness of the room – my jean jacket didn't really offer much in the way of warmth. I did not want to scare Sam even more than I already had. In the morning, I would try and figure out what the hell was going on with me.

I slid my hand under the pillow – a force of habit – a little perturbed when I didn't feel anything but the bed sheets. Where was my knife?... In my duffle bag… which was probably – hopefully – in the car. I wasn't getting it now…

I pulled my hand out from beneath the pillow, laying it on my stomach. I closed my eyes and found myself drifting off to sleep easily – easier than I thought I would.

_**-0o0o-**_

The next morning, I made sure I was awake and out of bed long before Sam. I was back at the table watching my brother rummage through his duffle bag for something to wear, that hope of this being a horrible practical joke heading down the drain. He pulled himself into a black t-shirt and his faded blue jeans. I narrowed my eyes. Those jeans had always been a lighter shade of blue, but not _that_ light. It looked like he'd sent them through a hundred wash cycles. When did they get so washed-out?

A shrilly ring brought my attention to Sam's jacket hanging over the kitchen chair across from me. He was quick to answer it as usual.

"Hello?… Hey Dad…"

I blinked. Dad? Dad actually phoned? For what? Was he alright?

"…Yeah, things are okay. Could be better… No, no change…"

No change? What did that mean? Did he mean change as in petty cash? Or was it something else? Or _someone_? Was someone hurt? Were they in the hospital? Who was it?

I slid out of the chair, careful not to move it, and moved over to my brother. "Sam, what's going on? Is someone hurt? Tell me–"

"…Yeah, I am… Soon… In a few minutes… Where are you?…"

I'd been wondering that too. Where _was_ Dad?

"…Really?… Why don't you come by tonight or tomorrow morning and see Dean?… So? He'd still like it… Dad, he needs us right now – now more than ever…"

What the hell? Well, I wasn't going to deny that I felt like I needed my father and brother right now, but I was horribly confused. It didn't surprise me that Dad had taken off – that man had been married to the hunt since the night of Sam's six month birthday –, but I wanted… no, _needed_ to know where he was. But why did I need them so badly? What was wrong? Why did I need them now more than ever?

"…Whatever, I'm too tired to argue right now… Yeah, well, I'm heading out to see Dean, so I'll talk to you later."

"Sam, I'm right here." I pointed to myself. Sam walked right by me into the bathroom. "What's going on?" No answer. "Answer me man! Fuck!" I was yelling by this point. I followed him, coming to a stop behind him as he watched himself brush his hair in the mirror. "Sam–"

I froze, my eyes drifting to the reflection in the glass. My stomach twisted itself into a tight, painful knot. An over-whelming fear seeped into me and I blinked hard several times. Outside the mirror, there were two Winchesters. Inside the mirror, there was only _one_. Sam.

"Holy shit." I tore my eyes away from the mirror, turning to my brother. The back of my eyes began to sting. I leaned against the corner of the sink with one hand. I blinked back the threatening tears. "What the hell is wrong with me?" I whispered. I looked back to my brother. "Sam?" My voice cracked. "What's wrong with me? What's going on?" I raised my hand and brought it down again, intending to clap Sam's shoulder. _Indenting to_ being the key words there. But, my hand _didn't_ stop on Sam's shoulder… My hand with _through_ Sam's shoulder. What the fuck? I tried to touch Sam a second time, third, fourth… This was crazy!

I saw a facecloth hanging over the edge of the sink. I picked it up.

Sam's head snapped to the facecloth in my hand. His face went pale and his eyes widened. It was like I was in a movie. Like that one, _Ghost_ with Patrick Swayze.

I promptly dropped the facecloth in the sink and made a beeline for the kitchen chair.

"What the heck?" The colour was slowly returning to Sam's face, but the shock and fear was no less visible. He left the bathroom, zeroing in on his duffle bag. He tore through it, t-shirts, jeans, socks and underwear spewing out of it. "Where are you?" Another pair of underwear jumped to escape Sam's fury. He sighed. "Gotcha," he announced. The black, metal form of the EMF detector was clutched in his left hand and a rock salt gun was in his right. He marched back into the bathroom and momentarily disappeared from my sight.

I didn't dare follow him this time. Instead, I opted to stay put. A moment later, I heard a familiar scratchy squeal…

I swallowed. I didn't know what to think. The EMF was picking me up? But that would mean… No! I couldn't be! No! Why? How? What happened to me? _WHAT THE FUCK_ _WAS GOING ON?!_

Sam appeared in the bathroom doorway. The EMF was still squealing away. It was still picking me up. Damn… Sam scanned the room, his eyes narrow, searching.

He nodded softly, decision setting into his face. He tossed the EMF and rock salt gun back into his duffle bag, and stuffed his feet into his shoes. He shoved himself into his jacket, grabbed his motel room key and left, locking the door. The comforting sound of the Impala's purr came through the walls, followed by the gunning of the engine. Then silence…

I sat there for a long moment, dumbfounded and downright terrified. On legs that suddenly felt an awful lot like jelly, I slowly stood up and semi-stumbled into the bathroom. I stood in front of the mirror again. All I could see was the wall and towel rack _behind_ me. I picked up the facecloth from the sink and forced myself to look in the mirror again. I felt the colour drain from my face as I watched the cloth "float". No wonder Sam had been so freaked when I moved the chair last night and when I picked up the facecloth the first time… I'd be pretty freaked too if a facecloth in a motel room started levitating.

I set the facecloth back on the edge of the sink and turned, mechanically. The bed was directly in front of me and suddenly looked so welcoming. I shuffled to it, sliding in under the covers. I welcomed the warmth. I snuggled in, the blankets becoming a temporary shield. I felt vulnerable and suddenly alone in the silent, empty motel room. I closed my eyes. I wished I had followed Sam out that door. I had to find out what the hell was wrong with me and it wasn't like I could just ask. Dammit. I sighed, and within moments, everything faded to black and I felt unconsciousness pull me under.

_**-0o0o-**_

I was antsy. My legs jumped underneath the blankets. I was staring at a corner of the ceiling where two egg-shell walls met behind the door. A rather large black spider moved about, spinning a web. I watched it move from one wall to the other to the ceiling and back again. I found it amazing how a creature hated by so many could be so graceful and so interesting to watch… Or maybe I was just horribly bored out of my cotton-pickin' skull…

I threw the covers back and pulled myself out of bed. I maneuvered my way around the beds going to look out the window for the first time in two days. Hues of purple and pink painted the sky. The sun was setting to my left. In front of me, deciduous trees were in various stages of shedding their leaves. The parking spot directly in front of the motel room door was still empty.

I chewed my bottom lip. Sam had mentioned he was going to see me when he was talking to Dad. Where was I? Where was Dad and what was his excuse for not coming by this time?… But as I thought about what I had heard of the conversation, Sam had been happy to hear from Dad and there was no real arguing between the two Winchesters. In fact, it sounded like Sam had been trying to keep the argument from escalating. I smiled. Kudos to Sammy.

I opened the curtains a little more and sat on Sam's bed. I perched my chin in the palm of my hand and watched the cars and people pass by on the street. AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" began playing in my mind and I started humming along with it. I nearly laughed. Was I really so bored I was sitting here, humming _Thunderstruck_ and watching the world go by? Now all I needed was an old house, a front porch and a walker. But, nonetheless, here I was, watching a world that, at the moment, couldn't see me, and thus had no clue I was watching it.

I _had_ hoped sitting here would help me feel better. The only thing it helped me feel was lonely. And that all of this really _was_ real. I wracked my brain trying to remember something, _anything_ of what happened to me. I wracked and prodded my mind for I don't know how long, but wasn't granted anything. Except a dull headache.

I scratched my left knee. My right knee bounced. I was getting antsy again. I looked back out the window. It looked like it was a nice day; many people were out in thin sweaters. Maybe a walk would help me organize my very muddled thoughts. I got up and headed for the door.

_Wait, Dean, _my always-present but often-ignored inner voice piped up. _Someone might see you_. Dammit. Why do voices of reason always have to be right? Backdoor. I quickly headed to it, and as quietly as humanly possible, opened it. I poked my head out the doorway. The coast was clear. I stepped out, closing the door softly behind me. A cool breeze whipped around the corner, forcing me to wrap my denim jacket around myself. It was cooler than I thought. Oh well; I could tolerate it.

I rounded the corner and crossed the parking lot. The sky was now hued red and orange and still provided enough light. Long shadows lay over the ground. I looked down and promptly frowned. Where my shadow _should've_ been intermingled with a small Poplar tree, was just the gravel shoulder of the highway. I couldn't even cast a shadow? This was ridiculous!

You know when you've been asleep for a while and you start to realize that you're dreaming? You want to wake up, but your body won't let you? It's incredibly annoying, especially if you're dreaming something you really don't want to dream. But, nonetheless, that's how I felt. I _had_ to be dreaming. I probably dreamt the whole _Ghost_ sequence and the EMF blitz…

I pinched myself. And it hurt… Shit. I _wasn't_ sleeping. Everything – every single thing that had happened over the past twenty-four hours was _real_. I chewed my bottom lip. None of the motorists gave me any acknowledgement as I walked along the shoulder of the highway. I knew I couldn't go too far – I had no idea where I was. I had no idea what happened to me or why.

I've never been religious, even after meeting Layla and Reverend LaGrange, but I looked skyward anyway. "Why?" I asked softly. "What happened? What did I do?" Was this punishment for something I'd done? Was this a test? Why me? Didn't the man upstairs realize I had a job to do? I had a Demon to catch and a family to keep together. How could I accomplish either of those things if I was like this? Was this what purgatory was like? Was this what it was like to be like the things I hunted? Whatever this was, I hated it.

_**-0o0o-**_

The sun went down and the wind started to blow cold. I found myself wishing I had my leather jacket. I also found myself wishing I could get out of these clothes. Jeans, a grey t-shirt and a denim jacket did nothing against mid-autumn weather – especially after sundown. Not to mention, it had started raining.

Vehicles still passed me on the highway – eighteen wheelers mostly – and I often had to shield my eyes from their headlights. I didn't know which was worse; the headlights themselves or the glare on the wet asphalt.

I shivered. Despite the cars on the highway and the couple walking on the opposite side, I felt alone. It was worse than when I had been hunting by myself after Sam left for Stanford. At least then, I had the locals to talk to and still had the liberty of flirting with a woman. Right now, I had nobody and it was driving me insane. I wanted someone to talk to. Sam would've been ideal, or Missouri Moseley. Or hell, even an argument with Cassie would've been perfect. At least I'd have someone to communicate with and it would be a far cry better than my current situation…

The green Vacancy sign flickered in the corner of my eye. I sighed in relief. The rain was turning to sleet and I was freezing. I broke into a jog and didn't stop until I'd reached the motel parking lot. The Impala was in the parking space in front of the motel room door. Sam was back. But the room was in darkness. Crap. Sam couldn't have been in bed already? It was only… What time _was_ it? I couldn't have been out that long…

I crossed the parking lot and cupping the sides of my eyes with my hands, I looked into the room. Sam wasn't there. It looked like he hadn't been there for a while. I reached for the doorknob. It turned but the door didn't open. I rolled my eyes. Of course it would be locked – why wouldn't it? Sam wasn't stupid.

I patted my jeans' pockets. Maybe – hopefully – I still had the lock picks on me. My necklace was still around my neck and my ring was still on my right ring-finger… why wouldn't I still have my lock picks? I felt my jacket pocket. Ah ha! I pulled them out of the right pocket.

After making sure no one was in the immediate vicinity, I knelt down. I worked at the lock until I heard the click of the deadbolt retracting. I returned the lock picks to my pocket, then turned the doorknob. The door swung open and I moved to take a step inside. My eyes caught something white on the floor. I blinked. That wasn't what I thought it was, was it? I couldn't have scared Sam that much…

I knelt down. Shit… Sam had lined the doorway with salt. He thought I was a spirit… Well, I _did_ set the EMF detector off, and I probably would've done the same thing in this situation. Crap, now I knew how ghosts felt… But would the salt actually repel me? Was I the classic definition of a ghost? I mean, Sam had told Dad he was going to see me… But if I had been in the motel room when Sam left to see me, then there the hell did he go? How could I be in two places at once?

I backed up, closing the door. I hurried around to the backdoor. Hopefully it was still unlocked from when I'd left earlier. I tried it. It was unlocked, but in the same condition as the front. Salt lined the doorway. I sighed, taking a moment to look around the room. Cat's eye shells sat on the end table between the two beds. Shit… A salt ring and cat's eye shells? Had I really scared Sam that much?

I swallowed and uttered a curse. What was I to do now? Where would I go? It was ten o'clock, sleeting and I was tired and cold.

I made my way back around to the front. My eyes locked on the Impala sitting there in front of the motel room door. She might not have offered much in the way of warming me up by this point, but inside, she was dry and comfortable. Not to mention, she was always open.

I went to the passenger side backdoor, smiling at the familiar reluctant squeak when it opened. I didn't care of anyone saw the door "magically" open and close. All I cared about, was I was in the only familiar thing in this city. She was the best friend anyone could ask for – strong, steady, always unchanging, loyal… But more than that, she was a little piece of the home I'd left behind when I was just barely old enough to remember. In all actuality, she was the only permanent home I ever had, and until the Demon was killed, she always would be. Heck, she might continue to be even after that…

I lay down on the leather seat, curling up as best I could. Being 6'1", it proved to be quite difficult, but I managed to get comfortable enough. I lay on my back, my feet laying semi-haphazardly on the floor behind the passenger seat.

I stared at the ceiling of the car. I didn't want to believe any of this was real. It was just… confusing and I didn't have the slightest grasp of what was going on. All I was acutely aware of, was Sam couldn't see or hear me and I had scared him so badly he went so far as to line the motel room doors and windows with salt…

If I was a spirit, how the hell did I scare Sam as much as I did? Was he hunting something? Was it nastier than a spirit? A shapeshifter or a demon or something? Did he think I was whatever he was hunting? Maybe he thought it was after him, hence the salt and the cat's eye shells.And since it seemed like I was now something supernatural… That thought sent shivers coursing through every inch of my body. I was the very thing I hunted – a spirit… But I was in two places at once… Out-of-body experience maybe?

No! If I was having one of those, that would mean I was close to death… Why? How? What the hell happened to me?!

My eyes drifted to the back window. Stars twinkled in the sky and the moon was half full. I wasn't the praying type – the only person, outside of Sam, I ever prayed for was Layla – but I found myself doing just that. I prayed for someone to talk to, someone to find me, I needed to know what happened to me…

"I need help," I said aloud, weak and defeated. Tears stung at my eyes, but I didn't care. Nobody could see or hear me anyway. "Help me?"

_Oh, God, please… Help._


	7. Thunderstruck

_**Chapter Six**_

**Thunderstruck**

November 2nd – November 4th, 2007

Toronto, Ontario, Canada

_Lyse_

_And I thought, 'what could I do?'_

_And I knew there was no help, no help from you_

There is one place in the whole world I absolutely hate being. Okay, two. At a funeral and in a hospital. Right now, I was in the latter of the two. My parents' van had been in for repairs since Tuesday. It was now Friday, and with Keith and Andrea on their third business trip in two months and Miriam and her fiancé out of town with Sally, I was the only one available to play chauffeur.

The three of us, my father, mother and I, sat in the waiting room. A few weeks ago, my father found a couple of lumps under his left arm. Our family doctor then sent him to see a specialist, so here we were in an east end hospital waiting room. Mom flipped through an old magazine, Dad worked through a Bingo scratch ticket, and I scribbled Christmas songs in the margins of the newspaper in my lap.

A year ago, I, along with Pageen's boyfriend, Tony; Mike Chaplin and three other friends, got together and started a band – conveniently named after the street I lived on: Munro Park. We were never expecting to actually go anywhere, but somehow, someone heard us and now we were often called to play bars and benefit concerts. Next month, we were playing a Christmas concert for the Daily Bread Food Bank. All that was asked of Torontonians who attended was a non-perishable food item or a small monetary donation. Tomorrow, like most Saturdays, my basement would be turned into a concert hall, and Pageen would go out with her girlfriends to escape.

"Clyde Aizik." A nurse with brown curls, dark eyes and an overgrown smile stood at the door. "Doctor Londan will see you now."

I looked to my parents. "Do you want me to go in with you?"

"You can if you want," Mom replied.

In truth, I _didn't_, but I felt as though I should. So, I folded the newspaper and tucked it under my arm, then followed my parents into the examination room.

Doctor Londan did a couple of tests on Dad, and now we were just waiting for the results. It took all of my resolve to keep from pacing like a bored, insane idiot. When I said I absolutely hate being in a hospital, I meant it. When one put a person's name and hospital in the same sentence, it sent shivers up and down my spine.

I hated waiting. It was second or third on the list of my most non-favourite things to do. I wasn't a particularly patient person and I was notorious for annoying the hell out of my friends and family because of it.

Doctor Londan returned – finally – with the test results in his hand. I looked at him, narrowing my eyes. It wasn't the sheets of paper that drew my attention; it was the grim, apologetic expression on his face. Uh oh. I did _not_ like what I was seeing. That couldn't be good…

Doctor Londan cleared his throat softly. "I just got the results back, and…" He paused, his eyes settling on Dad. "You have cancer."

My stomach sank. I watched my parents' eyes glaze over in the same shock I felt. How? Why? Dad was the healthiest he'd been in a long time. How could he have cancer? This wasn't real…

"What kind?" I was barely able to stutter those words out. I turned to the doctor. "Is it curable?"

The doctor's hazel eyes slowly drifted to mine. He swallowed. "It's Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma and right now, it's treatable."

"Treatable?" I was not taking this very well. "That's it?"

"Lyse," Dad spoke up, his voice soft and as soothing as he could make it. "It's okay. I'm going to be fine."

I turned to my father, unable to control my words. "No, Dad, it's not okay." I looked at him, noting the fear in his eyes.

"We won't know the full extent of the cancer until he goes for a gallium scan," Doctor Londan said. He sighed. "Look, I wish I wasn't the one to tell you this, and I'm sorry."

I believed that. Doctor Dave Londan and my family had been friends ever since we moved up here in 1993. We were neighbours for ten years until my parents moved into the house they now live in.

"We know, Dave," Mom replied.

Dave set Dad up with a gallium scan in three weeks – which I felt was too long a wait – and we left a short time later.

_**-0o0o0-**_

The drive home from my parents' house to mine was a blur of racing thoughts. _Cancer, cancer, cancer…_ I couldn't get that word out of my head. This was now the third time that disease had tormented me. It started with my uncle in '94, then my cousin in 2000, both of whom had been claimed by it.

"It's Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma and right now, it's treatable," Dr. Londan had said. My cousin had been told the same thing in '96 and she lost her life to it four years later. This wasn't fair. What had Dad done to deserve this? I didn't want to believe any of what Dr. Londan had said. Dad was only forty-six. How could he be dying? I mean, that's what it boiled down to, right? Dad had cancer and we were told it was "treatable". That's what they told you when they knew the outcome wasn't good. This was _not_ fair!

I wiped a renegade tear from my cheek. I felt my shoulders beginning to shake. Dammit. Could my breakdown hold off for just two minutes more? My street was only a block away…

I pulled into the driveway behind Pageen's Rabbit. I furrowed my brow, looking down at the clock above the car radio. What was Pageen doing home at 4:30? Since she'd started that job at the head office of The Bank of Montreal, she was never home before 6:30. She wasn't sick, was she? I hoped not.

I shut the engine off and got out of the car. The lake was dark blue against the fading red sunlight. Had I not felt so awful, I would've allowed myself a moment to wallow in the tranquility. But, I had a brother to phone and a roommate to possibly take care of.

I turned, ascended the stairs and unlocked the door. I was met by the usual three four-legged furry welcoming party, all of whom I bent down to greet.

"Pageen?" I called, pulling my feet out of my shoes.

"In the family room." Her voice came from the back right hand corner of the house. She didn't sound like herself. Her usually chipper voice was quiet and sad…

With Pepper, Lincoln and Keifer at my heels, I maneuvered my way through the kitchen and dinning room, to find Pageen at her computer, a half-pound tub of chocolate ice cream sitting next to it. "Pageen?"

Slowly, her eyes met mine. She wasn't smiling. In fact, it looked like she'd been crying. Uh oh. I didn't like this.

"What's wrong? What are you doing home so early? You're not sick, are you?"

She smiled softly – probably at my enthusiasm – and shook her head. "No, no; I'm fine." She picked up the tub of ice cream. "I just," she dug her spoon into it, "don't have a job anymore." She put the ice cream heaped spoon into her mouth.

I blinked. "Less than two months before Christmas? Is that even right?"

"Welcome to Corporate Canada," she replied cynically.

I rubbed my temple. A dull headache was moving in. "But you were one of their best employees. You always got everything done and the customers loved you."

"I know," Pageen sighed. "They hired the snotty little rich girl on the street behind us."

I immediately felt sick. I knew who she was referring to, and boy, she was upset. Sure, she hated the girl almost as much as I did, but she usually held her tongue when it came to calling her names. That was my job. "Kathleen Hart? You lost your job to that Grade-A bitch?"

Another heaping spoon of chocolaty goodness entered her mouth. She only nodded.

"What is this world coming to? That tramp can't even hold a boyfriend let alone a job." Was I overreacting? Maybe just a little. But hey, my best friend had just lost her job to the same bitch who had overly humiliated me at a beach party my grade nine year. Since then, she'd continued to torment me with snide remarks and a few horrible pranks. She was worse than the stereotypical mean girl. And with everything going on with my father, I had a right to overreact a little. Not to mention, Pageen and I both knew Kathleen more than likely used her Barbie-doll beauty and a mini-skirt to get the position.

"I know," Pageen sighed.

"But you watch, Pay; Kathleen will screw up royally not even halfway through her first week there, and your boss will be on his knees begging you to come back."

Pageen shrugged her eyebrows. "Maybe. But, until then, I've got resumes to distribute come Sunday." She shook her head and spun in the chair so she was facing me completely. "But, enough about me. What happened with your Dad's appointment?"

Now I wanted dibs on that half pound tub of chocolate ice cream. I swallowed and after taking in a wavering breath, I told her everything Dr. Londan had said.

"Oh gosh, Lyse," came her response. After a moment, she got up and moved towards me.

I backed away, raising my hands. "No hugs, Pageen," I said softly. "Not right now."

"Lyse…" Pageen started to protest.

I needed an escape. "I, uh… I've got to phone Keith and let him know. I'll use my cell, so you can phone for pizza."

Pageen sighed. "Okay. I'm going to cancel my date with Tony tonight."

"No, don't do that," I replied. "I'll be fine here alone."

"Lyse…" She was protesting again. "I know how you get when you're really upset. Maybe I should stay home or invite Tony over here."

"Pageen, I won't raid the liquor cabinet," I said, "I promise. I just need some time alone to think about things." I hoped I could keep that promise. "I'll be fine."  
"Are you sure?"

I loved Pageen with all my heart, but she could sometimes be too concerned about things. She'd be a great mother though, whenever Tony decided to hurry up and pop the question. She and Tony Brandt had been friends for only God knows how long and had been dating steadily since February. Pageen loved him, I loved him, and I knew he was the one for her. I mean, I didn't believe in predestination or fate, but they just seemed right for each other.

"I'm sure," I answered. "I'll be fine."

Pageen still didn't seem convinced, but she nodded anyway. "Alright, if you're sure." She headed for the kitchen. "Go call your brother."

_**-0o0o0-**_

Less than halfway through the conversation with Keith, I had started crying. Keith was trying to calm me down over the phone, but it wasn't working all too well.

"Lyse." His voice was soothing. "Everything is going to be fine."

"How do you know, Keith? I told you what the doctor said. When the outcome isn't good, they say it's treatable. They said it with Uncle George and they said it with Karen. Look at what happened to them." I had already lost an uncle and a cousin; I did not want to lose my father too. He'd been such a crucial part of Munro Park when we first started playing concerts. For every show, he'd rent a U-haul truck for our instruments and would personally chauffeur us in the van to and from the venues. He was virtually a part of the band. What would we do without him? What would I do without him? Or Keith, Miriam… or Mom? She and Dad had been married for 28 years.

"You never know, Lyse. Dad could beat this," Keith replied. "No, actually, he _will_ beat this. He's an Aizik, and all us Aiziks are fighters. If anyone can beat this, it's Dad."

I sniffed hard, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "I hope so."

"Me too. But look, Andrea and I are catching the next flight home."

"But what about your promotion?" I asked.

"Screw the promotion; I don't care," Keith answered. "I'm needed there with you guys. Lyse, I know how you get when things like this happen and I'm not going to let you deal with it alone. Not this time."

I couldn't help but smile. "Thanks."

"No need to thank me," he said. "I'm your big brother and I am not going to let you face this alone. And you, me, Miriam and Mom will be behind Dad all the way. We're going to face this together as a family."

"I know, Keith," I answered, "I know."

"Good. Now look, I got to go, but I'll call you when I get home."

"Alright. I'll talk to you then. Bye."

"Bye," he replied. "And Lyse?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I love you, right?"

I smiled, and a tear ran down my cheek. "Of course I know that. And I love you too." I paused a moment to wipe the tear away, then took a breath. "I'll see you when you get home."

I shut my phone and sat on my bed, looking at the picture on my bedside table of my father and I at last year's Aizik Family Reunion. I picked it up and held it, smiling. Dad stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders. Our eyes were focused on something to the right of the frame. I remembered now, in the moments before the picture had been taken, Keith had made a joke about something, causing Dad and I to laugh, so our smiles were pretty big. The two of us looked nothing alike, but somehow there was no denying that we were father and daughter. Gosh… the thought that I could lose him… I mean, I knew that losing him was inevitable, but not before his fiftieth birthday. I'd always thought that when God called him home, Dad would be well into his eighties and ready to back out gracefully of old age having lived a long, full life. Dying of cancer was not my idea of a graceful entrance into Heaven. There had to be some kind of reason for this, right? Punishment? But for what? What had Dad done? Was this some kind of test, or a lesson? I just wanted to know why… _Dammit, why?!_

A quiet whine brought my attention to the floor. Pepper was sitting at my feet, giving me her famous 'I know something's wrong' look. I picked her up, and set her beside me. She put her front paws on my thigh and leaned in, licking my cheek.

I smiled and wrapped my arms around her small body. I sighed and kissed the top of her head. She was my baby, – my little furry canine baby – and my best friend. Our friendship didn't come overnight, however. Last July, while on my way to the Aizik Family Reunion, I saw her on the side of the highway. It was pouring down rain and the fallen-over box she was in was soaked and ready to fall apart. I pulled over and tried to get her so I could put her in my car, but she kept shying away. It was obvious her previous owner had been less than kind. Luring her with cold cuts of meat, I finally managed to get her close enough to wrap a blanket around her and get her in the backseat of the car. She was only three months and downright terrified. I wasn't just going to drive by and leave her on the side of the highway like everyone else was. It was a couple of weeks before I began to gain her trust, and another two weeks before she completely latched onto me, and got used to Pageen's two dogs. Pepper was my baby and I loved her.

"Lyse," Pageen called from downstairs, "Pizza's here."

I gave Pepper's head a pat and stood up. I turned to her. "I guess you're hungry too, eh?"

Pepper yipped and wagged her tail as if to say 'yes'.

I smiled. "'K, c'mon." With Pepper at my heels, I headed downstairs. After feeding Pepper, Lincoln and Keifer, I perched myself at the breakfast table beside the opened 2-4-1 box. Pageen had the pizza cutter and was working through one of the two pizzas.

"Two veggie slices pour vu," Pageen said, setting the plate in front of me.

"Merci buckets," I replied, smiling.

Pageen rolled her eyes.

I took a bite out of my pizza, then headed for the fridge and retrieved the milk jug. As I reached for a tall glass, I felt Pageen's gaze on me. Slowly, I turned, to be met by my friend's narrowed eyes.

I furrowed my brow. "Am I doing something uncharacteristic?"

"A little."

I leaned against the counter. "What?"

Pageen sat down at her spot at the breakfast table, two slices of her pepperoni pizza on a plate in front of her. "Not an hour ago, you were on edge about Kathleen, you looked like you were going to cry when you were telling me about your Dad, and I know you were crying while you were talking to Keith – I can see it in your eyes. But now, you're acting as if nothing's wrong. What's going on, Lyse?"

I lowered my eyes, staring at a tiny crack in the linoleum tile. "I was trying not to think about it," I mumbled. The back of my eyes stung slightly.

"Trying not to think about it and hoping it'll go away? That's not going to work; not this time. This is not you feeling one of your brother's migraines where ignoring it is going to help you not feel it. This isn't going to do away overnight–"

"You think I don't know that?" I snapped. Tears escaped my eyes. "My father is _dying_, Pageen, and I know this is not going to go away overnight. But, my father wouldn't want me dwelling on it 24/7, and me not thinking about it was keeping the liquor cabinet full." I could see Pageen shrinking slightly in her chair, but I couldn't stop. "But no, you had to bring it up. So, when you come from your date with Tony and you find Captain Morgan in the kitchen or in the living room or on my bedroom floor, don't be surprised, but you can expect me to thank you." My voice had grown to a partial yell, and guilt had spread itself over Pageen's face. I took a breath, let it out. "I'm going to bed." I headed for the stairs.

"What about your supper?" Pageen asked quietly.

"I'm not hungry anymore." I looked to her briefly. "Have fun with Tony. Goodnight." I ran up the stairs.

I heard her call after me, but I didn't stop. I didn't want to talk to her. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I just wanted to be alone.

I got changed for bed and clambered underneath the covers. I felt the mattress dip, signaling I had company. I rubbed Pepper's back and she curled up at my stomach. I closed my eyes, and found sleep waiting for me just around the corner.

_**-0o0o0-**_

Saturday morning had me running around in a frenzy trying to get the basement ready for the afternoon's band practice. I had to admit that I really wasn't in the mood for a band practice, but with a concert in a month, we couldn't afford to cancel. These concerts were important to us, and if we wanted them to be as perfect as possible, we had to practice as much as we could in the time we had.

I was running the broom over the hardwood floor of the basement when Tony came downstairs. Due to an overnight thunderstorm, he had spent the night on Pageen's insistence. I'd overheard them at about 11:30 last night – Pageen's insisting, and Tony's eventual give in.

"Lyse, the basement is fine," he smiled.

I looked around the floor. "You call dust bunnies crowding in the corners fine?" I continued sweeping.

I heard Tony clear his throat softly, then sigh, and I inwardly braced myself for what I knew was coming out of his mouth.

"Pageen told me about your Dad."

I froze, my back tensing. _Dammit_. "Did she?" I continued on sweeping.

"Yes, she did," he answered. "Lyse, we don't have to have a practice today."

I stopped sweeping and turned to face my roommate's boyfriend. "Excuse me? We have a concert in five weeks. We can't afford to miss a practice."

He tilted his head, his green eyes narrowing in mock confusion. "Oh, we can't afford to miss a practice five weeks before a concert, yet, three weeks ago, we could afford to cut our bass guitarist?"

"Are you mocking me?" I spat. When he didn't answer, I took a breath. "Look, Kaitlynne never showed up for practices except the Saturday before and the day of a concert. You heard all the mistakes she made at our concerts. It was embarrassing."

"Yeah, well, we lost a really good bassist," Tony retorted. "And it's not like you've never made a mistake while performing."

I was ready to throw a temper-tantrum. Had I have been ten instead of twenty-three, I would have. "I'm not denying that she's a good bassist, - she taught me all I know about playing bass – neither am I denying that I've ever made a mistake during a concert. That's not the point." I sighed, leaning on the broom handle. "This band is about commitment; Kaitlynne didn't have it." I sighed again. "I'm not canceling this practice, Tony; I can't."

"You're doing it again, Lyse," Tony spoke. "And I know why."

"Doing what?"

"Trying too hard," Tony replied. "All because you don't want to think about what's happening with your father. It's not going–"

"Not you too," I whined.

"Pardon me?"

"Your girlfriend gave me that same lecture last night."

"Because she's worried about you, Lyse." Tony was trying desperately to get his point to me, and getting annoyed in the process. Not that I blamed him; I could be as stubborn as a mule and very hard-headed at times. Especially when upset or when I really wanted things my way.

Tony sighed and approached me. He took the broom from me. "I'm going to phone everyone and cancel the practice."

"Tony–"

He cut me off. "It's okay. They'll understand. We still have four more Saturdays before the concert. You need this."

"What?"

"A day for you," Tony answered. "If you want, Pageen and I can take you out for lunch, or splurge and take you to the CN Tower. I know you haven't been there in a while. Or, I can take Pageen out and you can play your Nintendo Wii or your Game Cube or play The Sims all day. Or, watch movies; go for a walk along the Boardwalk. I don't care what you do, just make this a Lyse day – a day for you."

I had to admit, a day all to myself did sound like a marvelous idea. I sighed, giving in. "Alright. Phone and cancel today's practice."

Tony smiled. "Good girl."

_**-0o0o0-**_

Just as Tony said he would do, he cancelled the practice, and then took Pageen out for the rest of the day, leaving me with the house to myself. I stood at the side door, watching people walking their dogs, more dogs playing in the water by the shore, couples young and old, joggers, all go by the fence separating my backyard from the beach. I sighed, and headed back to the basement. I zeroed in on my Gibson Les Paul electric guitar. The sunburst colour was the warmest thing in that basement. I picked it up, tuned it, plugged it into the amplifier and sat down on the couch. I adjusted it on my thigh, then started playing the opening riff to AC/DC's "Thunderstruck". It just felt like the right song. In a way, I felt like I'd been thunderstruck. My father had cancer and there was nothing I could do about it. The only help thus far, was an appointment with a cancer doctor three weeks from now. A lot could happen in three weeks.

"_I was caught in the middle of the railroad track… I looked 'round and I knew there was no turning back_…" I sang. Yep, that song just about summed up the way I felt. I felt like I was standing on that metaphorical railroad track with a metaphorical huge black steam engine racing towards me. And of course, the track just had to be on a bridge a hundred feet above a rocky crevice. My choices were: jump or be hit by the train. I wasn't sure what was more frightening; jumping or the impact. Both would be equally as painful…

Or, maybe me being chased by a huge angry Grizzly would be a better comparison. Keep on running or fight – my two choices. I was running, trying to get away, but that bear was catching up. How long could I keep this up before that Grizzly caught me? How long could I go on trying not to think about my father's cancer before it would catch up and bite me in the ass? Dammit, _wait!_ What was I doing? The Aiziks had _never_ been ones to run away from their problems. Maybe I was trying to save my butt, but I was leaving my family behind. The family I'd saved and been saved by more than once.

"Thunderstruck" gave way to "It's A Long Way To The Top" before I put the sunny guitar back on its stand and went upstairs.

I heated up the two slices of pizza I didn't eat the night before, and set it on the coffee table in front of the plush leather couch in the living room. I then stood in front of my DVD shelving unit, skimming through the movie binder for a movie to watch. I had so many DVDs, I had to keep a list in order to find them all.

_A Streetcar Named Desire_? A good movie, excellent play, but too old. _Romeo and Juliet_… too tragic. _Save The Last Dance_?… I never knew why, but movies about dancing always helped me feel better. Maybe it was all the music or the choreographed dance sequences… Whichever it was, I loved them. So, with that, I pulled out _Save The Last Dance_ from its spot on the second shelf three rows in. I threw the binder on the couch, then slipped the DVD into the player. I sat down on the couch, and started watching the movie.

_Save The Last Dance_ ended two and a half hours later, and after taking a break to walk the dogs and have supper, I took to flipping through the TV channels. The Superstation, also known as, TBS was showing _Edward Scissorhands_ for what had to be the seventh time this week. Granted, it was a movie I loved, and I felt Johnny Depp did an amazing job with the character, but TBS did not need to air it seven times in seven days. CTV had _Finding Neverland_, while CBC and ABC aired _Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl_. What was this, a Johnny Depp tribute night? _Neverland_ and _Pirates_ I loved, but I had the movies and wasn't in the mood to watch them. I continued on through the channels until I found a movie I would watch anytime on TV, despite the fact I owned it. _The Wizard of Oz_ was only thirty minutes in, and it being one of my favourite movies of all time, I threw the TV remote onto the couch beside me, and watched the rest of it. The book by L. Frank Baum was one of the most valued books I had, and I equally, if not more, loved the 1939 classic movie.

_The Wizard of Oz_ finished, and on my way to put my used plate and glass in the sink, I retrieved the Captain Morgan bottle from the liquor cabinet. A couple of shots wouldn't hurt, right? I grabbed a shot glass from the cupboard, and poured the warm, dark liquid into it. I don't know what it was about it, but it always seemed to calm my nerves. I had been hoping to avoid taking a couple shots, but I was still thinking about my father's cancer and I just wanted it to go away.

I lifted the shot from the cupboard, and downed it. The rum burned slightly on the way down and I savoured the sweetness. I poured myself another, and quickly downed it. The warmth the alcohol offered was comforting, and I allowed myself three more shots before I put the lid back on the bottle and headed for the stairs. I could feel the slight buzz as I made my way up. I could feel myself wanting more, but my annoying inner-voice said no. And as inner-voices are always right, I continued into my room.

I got changed and flopped down on my bed. I cursed. I didn't consider myself a true alcoholic; I only grabbed a couple shots when nothing else would calm me down, but I knew it hurt Pageen and I knew it worried the hell out of Keith. Could that have been a major factor in Keith's coming home and missing out on his promotion?

Dammit. I needed a boyfriend, someone I could call, someone to take me out, just someone to talk to; someone to help me feel better other than Captain Morgan.

I looked up at the slowly spinning ceiling fan, while the rest of the room spun along with it. I loved Captain Morgan, but he always made my world spin. I sighed and closed my eyes, and found sleep almost immediately.

_**-0o0o0-**_

I was sitting on the floor of a large room. I was leaning against a stone chair. A large black crystal ball sat in front of the chair to my left. I could feel a warm breeze coming through a large glass-less window behind me. The stone walls felt ominous, and I was scared. I felt as though my life had been threatened. On a table to my right, a large hourglass sat, the blood-red dust within it equal in both compartments. I was trapped and I had a feeling my life was in the contents of that hourglass.

A loud shriek came from outside. I turned to face the window, and had to do a double-take. A small group of winged monkeys flew by the window. I blinked. What the hell? Monkey's can't fly. What was going on?…

Now was when realization struck me with a 2x4. It was that moment when one would become acutely aware of the fact that they are dreaming, and one has no choice but to ride the dream out because their body and mind won't let them out. Normally, I could care less, simply because most of my dreams are silly cloud-nine fantasies… This, however, I was annoyed with. I was trapped in the castle of the Wicked Witch of the West in the Land of Oz. _Damn my over-active imagination_.

Tears ran down my cheeks; an action I couldn't stop. I wanted to get out and I wanted my dog back.

"Dorothy." A voice came from the crystal ball. A woman about the age of seventy was in the ball, concern and worry written over her wrinkled face.

_Dorothy? Right… Dorothy… Lyse… close enough_.

"Dorothy," the woman repeated. "Where are you?"

I rose to my knees and approached the ball. I set my hands on the glass as more tears ran down my cheeks.

"I'm right here," I sobbed. "Fuck, I'm right here."

I hated this. I wanted to go home, back to the woman in the crystal and away from this Witch's castle.

"It's me, it's Auntie Em."

Auntie Em? I didn't have an Aunt Em. My Grandma Morgan's name was Emily and my Aunt Estella called her Em… Damn, this was weird.

"We're trying to find you. Where are you?"

"I'm here in Oz, Auntie Em," I replied, knowing it was useless. "I'm locked up in the Witch's castle and I'm trying to get home to you, Auntie Em." The image in the ball flickered and began to fade. Fear filled me. "Oh, Auntie, don't go away! I'm frightened! Come back! Come back!"

The image changed from the gentle old woman to the hideous green face of the Witch. I recoiled from the ball, my back hitting the hard arm of the stone chair.

"Auntie Em, Auntie Em, come back," the Witch mimicked. Damn I wanted to kill her. "I'll give you Auntie Em, my pretty!" She laughed, and the image faded with the appalling screeching laughter lingering even after the face had disappeared.

My breath hitched and my throat tightened in a failed attempt to keep from crying.

I wasn't this much of a sap was I? I mean, sure I cried during _The Fox and the Hound_ and at the end of _Romeo and Juliet _and_ Return of the King_, but I didn't think I cried quite this much. Although, I guess I would be that scared too if I was trapped in a dark castle and my life rested in the hands of that hideous Witch and in the confines that hourglass.

I stopped crying after a while, and just watched the hourglass's red dust empty into the second compartment, hoping that somehow, my life would be spared.

After what felt like an eternity, I heard a faint commotion from the other side of the door.

"Dorothy?" the muffled voice of the Scarecrow came through the thick wooden door. "Are you in there? It's us."

Immediately, I ran for the door. "Yes, it's me. She's locked me in." _That bitch_.

"C'mon," the Lion called to the other two I knew were out there. "We've got to get her out. Open the door."

"Hurry, please, hurry," I pleaded. "The hourglass is almost empty."

The Scarecrow summoned the Tin Man, then told me to stand back. I did, then heard the sound of the axe being swung against the door. I picked up my basket from the table with the hourglass, and waited. A few axe-chops later, the door swung open, and I ran out, picking up Toto. The dog nudged my neck, then barked loudly in my ear…

The dream began to fade, but the barking was no less in volume. An angry snarl followed, which sounded as though it was right beside me.

"Shit that was weird," I mumbled. I opened my eyes and sat up. And promptly froze, my eyes widening, fear seeping into my body.

Standing at the bottom of my bed, was a young man, tall, medium-build, dark-haired, and handsome from what I could see in the dim moonlight reflecting off of the lake. Pepper stood on the bed, between myself and the intruder, snarling, barking, her ears laid back against her head. For a small dog, she had quite the voice and protective instincts.

"Who are you?" I asked sharply, my eyes scanning the room for my phone. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

Dammit, where was my phone? Shit… not good.

: dialogue marked with an asterisk are lines taken from the movie script.


	8. A Song To Sing

_**Chapter Seven  
**_**A Song To Sing  
**November 4th, 2007  
Toronto, Ontario, Canada  
_Dean_

_I'm looking for a friend to borrow_

Back when I was dating Cassie in Athens, Ohio, we went to this county fair in the next town. It was one of those local things with deep fried food, animal shows and cheap rides. I hadn't been too keen on it, but Cassie really wanted to go, so I took her. While there, she dragged me on a few rides despite my emphatic protests. There was one in particular, the Scrambler, that I did not want to go on. But, not to be a spoil-sport as she'd called me, I got on with her, and got off feeling horribly nauseous and disoriented.

Which was exactly how I felt now as I awoke from my nap. My head felt light and swimmy as though I had just been whirling around. Like my equilibrium was desperately trying to regain control. I did not like it.

The first thing I heard was the soft gurgling of tiny waves rolling over a beach and the distant cry of seagulls. I groaned, rubbing my face against the leather of the back of the seat.

I sat up, messaging the kinks out of my neck. _Where am I? _I wondered, exhausted. Mentally, I retraced my steps… Alright, I'd left for a walk… came back… the front and back doors of the motel room had been lined with salt… The Impala was the only thing open, so I got in the backseat, and I guess I'd fallen asleep.

I shook my head, and for the first time, took note of everything around me. I was still in the car, freezing, but I was _not_ in the motel parking lot. I was at the end of a dead end street, which ended at a beach. The houses were older and looked fairly expensive. I looked around the inside of the car. A digital clock, AM/FM radio and a CD player were in the dash. This wasn't my car… I didn't have a CD player, I had a cassette-type player… What the hell was going on?

I looked around, making sure there was absolutely no one around before I slowly and quietly opened the door, praying the car didn't have an alarm. When no alarm sounded, I sighed in relief and got out, closing the door. I looked at the car I'd just gotten out of. A Chevy Impala emblem was on the black metal just behind the backdoor, and I took a step back, looking at the 2005 model. It wasn't my '67, but at least the owner had a good taste in cars. To my right, I noticed a smaller grey car in front of the Impala. I was just able to make out the emblem for the Volkswagon Rabbit in the light given by the streetlamps and the half moon. I scrunched my nose. I wouldn't be caught dead in that thing. But, to each their own I guess.

I turned again to my right and looked up the street. Suburban Victorian houses lined the tree-lined street, which from where I stood, rose up a long, steady hill. I did an about-face and found myself staring at what appeared to be a large lake, on which the moon reflected silver in the dark water. There was something tranquil about the moon on the water, but wallowing would have to wait until I'd figured out what was going on and where the hell I was.

I looked at the house, which I stood in the driveway of. It was two stories, beige stucco with dark trim around the windows and a front porch which ran the full width of the house. The backyard was at the left side of the house, separated from the beach by a chain-link fence.

I headed up the driveway and up to the front door. I had to find out where I was somehow, and right now, this was the only option I had. I reached for the handle of the screen door. I hesitated, a slight feeling of guilt seeping into me. I didn't understand it though. Why was I feeling guilty? I did this kind of thing all the time whether the owners were home or not. It kind of went with the job.

Despite the uneasy feeling, I tried the screen door. It was unlocked and opened. Next, I tried the main door. The knob turned and opened. I furrowed my brow. I was sure this was a pretty nice neighbourhood to live in, but didn't folks know how to lock their doors at night? Of course, that would've proven useless anyway, since my always reliable lock picks were in the right pocket of my jacket.

I took a step onto the hardwood floor of the foyer, closing the front door behind me as quietly as humanly possible. In front of me, a single flight of hardwood Oak stairs led the way to the second floor. To my right was what looked like a living room. I poked my head in. The back of a black leather couch greeted me. Behind that, the dim streetlamp reflected off of a television screen. Two leather loveseats sat in front and to the sides of the couch, a glass, iron-frame coffee table sat in the middle. The walls looked to be a deep maroon colour, but I wasn't sure with the dim light. On the left wall, next to a door which appeared to lead to a bathroom, a black shelving unit housed what had to be over two hundred DVDs. Next to the DVD shelving, two narrow shelving units stood, these housing countless CDs. Between the two CD shelves, stood a silver stereo system with a five-disk CD changer, a tape deck and a record player. Despite the record player, I didn't see a single record to play on it.

I entered the room completely. On either side of me, two more black shelving units stood against the walls next to the doorway. Pictures sat in both units, most of two girls. They looked to be pictures taken from trips they'd been on together, but I couldn't be sure in the dim light.

The sound of the screen door opening had me pressing my back against the wall beside one of the shelving units. From where I was, I had a clear view of the front door. The door opened, and I was first met by a rich female voice, shaped by a light French accent.

_"I'll only be a few minutes."_

A moment later, a young woman stepped into the house. Her hair was long, dark and thick, her eyes dark and almost exotic. She was tall, thin, toned and fit. Were this a normal circumstance, I'd be flirting with her in two seconds flat. However, this was not a normal circumstance and I was not in the mood for flirting. I needed to figure out where the heck I was. Taking a breath, I moved away from the wall and stepped into the foyer.

"Excuse me," I spoke, approaching her. "Could you tell me where I am?"

She didn't so much as flinch.

I spoke twice more; same thing. I cursed. I was still invisible.

She walked into the kitchen and I followed for lack of anything better to do. She flipped the light on. Soft blue light flooded the room. I glanced up, taking note of the California style lighting. It wasn't the first time I'd seen California lighting, but the first time I'd seen it blue. It was different.

I took a quick moment to survey the rest of the kitchen. The floor tiles were white as were the countertops and appliances, which the lighting gave a soft hue of blue. The cupboards and breakfast table were cedar and the walls were a very pale blue. On the wall adjacent to the foyer, the cupboards separated for a door-less doorway leading to what looked like a dinning room.

A sigh brought my eyes from the doorway to the woman.

"Lyse." Her voice was a thick mixture of pity and sympathy. "Vous pauvre fille."

Lyse? There was someone else in this house? Well, I guess that would make sense – there were two cars in the driveway. But who was this Lyse, and why did this woman take pity on her? What was wrong with her?

It was then that I followed the woman's gaze. A half-empty 40 ounce bottle of Captain Morgan's dark rum and a knocked over shot glass sat on the counter by the sink under the window. I sighed. Great, I was in the house of an alcoholic. Of all the places in the world to end up, it just had to be an alcoholic's house. This was going to be fun.

The woman gave another sigh and then rushed past me. I heard her head up the stairs. I felt like following her, but thought better of it and decided to stay where I was. I sat down in one of the breakfast table chairs, setting my chin in the palm of my hand. My eyes drifted back to the bottle on the counter. The liquid glowed dark purple in the blue light. What could have happened to this Lyse to make her turn to the bottle for comfort? I mean, everybody's got their reasons, right? Stress, low self-esteem, a crisis in the family… What was her story?

The sound of creaking stairs pulled me out of my reverie and to the young woman who was now back in the kitchen. The faded blue jeans and brown turtleneck she'd been wearing when she came in had been exchanged for black slacks, a green tank top and a black jacket. She disappeared from the kitchen for a few minutes and came back with a portfolio in her hands. She went over to the counter where a notepad and pen sat. She wrote something down, then reached for her keys.

A pair of barks made both her and I jump. Turning to the doorway, I watched a Miniature Dachshund and a Miniature Schnauzer trot in. They both stopped upon seeing me at the breakfast table. The Dachshund yipped and, with the Schnauzer in tow, walked right over to me. Both dogs sniffed at my feet fervently. My gaze darted between the dogs and the woman.

"Get," I hissed at the dogs. "Go on."

Instead of heeding my demand, they barked at me. _I guess that's what they think about that one._

The young woman watched all of this in heavy confusion. She walked over to check out what the dogs were so interested in – not that she was going to find anything.

In her inspection, she bent down, setting her hand on the chair right where my thigh was. I could've sworn my heart missed about four or five beats, and shivers cascaded violently down my spine. It was like something out of a movie. This woman's hand had literally gone _through_ my thigh, and she didn't feel a thing. It almost felt like my thigh had turned to ice; the feeling of flesh passing through flesh was blood-curling. I wanted so badly to move, but that wouldn't have done anything but scare her, so I stayed put.

"There's nothing there, boys," she said and, much to my relief, stood up. She gave the dogs each a scratch behind their ears, then headed for the front door. "See you boys later." And she left, locking the door behind her.

I hung my head in relief. I looked up after a moment and found two pairs of beady black eyes staring up at me. So, the dogs could see me clear as anything, yet the woman couldn't. Well, animals do have a sense of the Supernatural much higher than the average human. But, what the heck did these dogs want? I mean, I knew I was a stranger, and I had absolutely nothing against them – I found them rather cute actually – but did they _have_ to stare at me like they were expecting me to do something? Well, I _was_ going to do something – give in to my curiosity – , but that was besides the point.

I got up from the breakfast table and, with the dogs at my heels, headed into the dinning room. A rich mahogany dinning table sat in front of me underneath a fairly large window offering a view of houses from the street behind this one. Adorning the window was rich brown tapestry and white silk sheer curtains. The walls were very neutral – beige, and tied everything together. Hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room was a wooden medieval style faux candle chandelier. In my curiosity, I found a round light switch. I pushed it and the faux candles gave off dim light, enhancing the browns of the room. I turned the switch back and forth, watching the lights dim and brighten a couple of times before putting it back to its original setting and turning it off.

To my right, against the adjacent wall, a mahogany cabinet housed decorative china plates that matched the colours of room. A few feet left of the china cabinet, an open door led back out to the foyer hallway. To my left was a mahogany door with a large window. A white Venetian blind hung in the door window. Looking through the slats, I was met with a dark but clear view of the beach and moon-reflective water.

I turned away from the door to leave the room. And promptly tripped over the dogs who weren't even half a foot behind me. With nothing to grab onto, I was headed straight to the floor. When I sat up, I was again being stared at by the dogs. I wasn't sure whether to curse at them or apologize. What was up with these two anyway? Was I really so interesting that they had to follow me around everywhere I went? I hardly thought so. I was just plain old Dean Winchester. Maybe they didn't get many visitors?

"Sorry boys," I apologized quietly, giving the dogs' ears a quick scratch. I pushed myself to my feet and, with the dogs _still_ at my heels even after me falling over them, left the dinning room.

I stepped back out into the foyer, now behind the staircase. A closed door stood across the hall to my left. Though curious to see the room, I stood in the dark hallway for several long minutes, looking around.

How did I get here? It wasn't like someone could have carried me… But maybe the right question wasn't how I got here, but _why_ I was here, why I was in _this_ house. _Do I know anyone here? _I sure as heck didn't know the dark haired girl. _Well, there is another girl in this house… Maybe I know her?_

I started for the stairs. _There has to be some reason why I'm **here **in **this**__house, with **these** people_… I paused, looking up the stairs. _Hang on… I prayed last night… I prayed for help. That prayer couldn't have been **answered**__could it? Does God hear a non-believer's prayer_? Whether He did or not, the thought of help was comforting. With that in mind and the knowledge that someone else was in this house, I ascended the stairs.

I cursed under my breath as the oak stairs creaked beneath my boots, which made enough noise as it was. I finished climbing the stairs and was met by a hallway. At my end, there were two rooms on either side of the hall. The one on my right was closed, while the one on the left opened to what looked like a spare bedroom. I turned around and away from the stairs. A bathroom was on my right, and further down two more rooms. The one on the left, was right where the stair railing met the wall. As I walked down the hall, I saw that bedroom was empty. The door to the other room was closed over; open enough to let a small animal in and out – probably for the two dogs still at my heels.

I gently pushed the door, relived when it didn't squeak. I stepped in, making sure my boots made as little noise as possible on the dark mahogany wood floors. To my right, at the adjacent wall was a bed, in which was a limp sleeping form beneath a thick homemade quilt.

"…Come back…" came from the lump in the bed.

I fought back a laugh. Sleep-talking? I smiled wistfully. I remembered Sam's nightmares, his calling Jessica's name. Even before the nightmares, he'd had a tendency to sleep-talk. It was often annoying, but right now, I'd have given anything to hear it again. I missed him and Dad. I wished I knew where and how Dad was. I wished I knew where _I_ was and what happened to me.

"…Locked me in…"

I rose an eyebrow. What kind of dream was this girl having? Who did she want to come back and who locked her in where? I knew wondering about it was fruitless, but it was something to do as well as a little amusing.

I saw a chair on the left wall next to the window and intended to sit in it. _Intended to_ being the key words there. On my way to the chair, I tripped over something, and fell to the floor with a thud. I cursed silently. Twice in what had to be less than twenty minutes? What was wrong with me? Had the hope of help clouded my ability to literally look before I leaped?

A stirring came from the bed, followed by a high pitched bark. I was on my feet in an instant and finding myself staring at a very angry Cardigan Corgi. Who'd have thought such a small dog could be so protective. But the other two were as content as ever even with me intruding. Maybe this Corgi didn't like strangers? And I _was_ intruding…

"Shit that was weird…" the lump mumbled.

_Sounded weird from my standpoint too_… The girl sat up, her shoulder length deep red hair slightly frizzy, and froze, her eyes widening. I could see fear fill her body.

"Who are you?" she asked sharply. Her eyes, which were slightly glazed, scanned the room fervently, searching, before returning to me. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"

It was my turn for my eyes to widen. "You can see me?" _Thank God_. I took a step forward, reaching to place a hand on the corner of the bed. Until the Corgi snarled and bit at me, narrowly missing my hand.

"Don't come any closer!" the girl demanded.

I had no complaints there. "Okay. But you can see me? You can actually _see_ me?"

"Yes, I can see you. You're standing right there. Now, get out of my house." Fear gripped her voice.

I cringed inwardly, fighting back a curse. Why did women have to scare so damn easily?

I had no idea how I was going to explain everything; this wasn't something the average person would believe. Even _I _was having a hard time believing it.

"I can't," I replied.

"Then, I'm calling–"

"No," I cut her off. "Calling the police won't do anything for you."

I saw her tense, her eyes darting to the side window and back to me several times. I knew what she was doing, and I didn't blame her. I'd want to escape too if I were in her place.

"You want money?" she asked quickly. "I've got $700 in the top drawer of my dresser."

_Dammit_. Why did everybody always have to jump to conclusions? This was not going the way I wanted it to. I sighed. "Look, I don't want your money."

"Then what do you want?"

"I just want you to listen. I'm not here to hurt you; I wouldn't dream of it."

"Then, why _are_ you here?" she demanded.

_Good question_. "That's the difficult part. I don't know why I'm here."

"Excuse me? You're in my house and you don't know why?"

I cursed under my breath. This was not going well. "I'm in here because I need help."

Concern was the next emotion to cross her face – a level only an older sibling could convey. Was she a big sister? I felt like asking, but birth order in her family would have to wait. I had more important things to worry about.

"Help with what?" she asked.

_Where do I begin? _"Where I am, why I'm here, how I got here…"

"Why and how you got here?" she repeated.

Did she have to repeat everything I said? I sighed. "Hear me out?"

She looked as confused as ever now, but she nodded. "Alright."

I proceeded to tell her about the motel, my encounter with Sam – or lack thereof –, the salt lined doorways, falling asleep in my Impala and waking up in hers. As I explained everything to her, I could see the confusion being joined by disbelief.

I sighed. "You don't believe me."

"I don't know what to believe," she said. "I'm still trying to get over the fact that you're standing here in my bedroom."

I still felt guilty about that. "I know and I apologize, but I need help, and you're the only one who can see me."

"What? What do you mean I'm the only one who can see you?" she asked. "You're standing there clear as anything."

"To you," I cut in. "Your friend came home a while ago; she and I were in the kitchen and she didn't see me at all. Sam couldn't see me, and he's my _brother_. It's like I'm a Spirit or something, and you're the only one–"

"_What?_" she cut in, even more disbelief in her face.

"A Spirit," I replied, "A Ghost."

"A Ghost?" she repeated. The fear and confusion in her face slowly became a look of realization. "Oh, I get it… Okay, no more rum before bed."

Rum? Who said anything about rum? Dammit.

"Listen," I spoke again. "It's not the rum. I'm telling you the truth–"

"I'm still drunk," she continued. It sounded more like she was reasoning with herself, sorting through everything. She pointed to me. "You're not really here… You're just a figment of my imagination."

"I _am_ really here," I shot back, my voice rising. "I'm standing right here." I stomped my foot for effect.

"I'm dreaming." Her reasoning continued. She lay her head back down on the pillow.

I bit back a curse as my stress level heightened even more and a dull headache began to throb. Frustrated didn't even begin to cover how I felt right now. _Just when I thought progress had been made…_

"You're not dream–"

"Oh," she looked up at me from where she lay. "When you go, leave the door unlocked. Casper and his Uncles are planning to stop by for brunch."

She did _not_ just do that! "No! You don't understand–"

"G'night."

She scorned the Corgi for snarling at nothing, then closed her eyes, and didn't stir again. The dog quieted down, but kept it's anger filled eyes fixed on me.

_Fuck!_ I thought about waking her, but the angry dog and fatigue warned me against it. So, I did the only thing I could do. I left the bedroom and headed back downstairs.

I was greeted once again by the Schnauzer and the Dachshund, who followed me into the living room. I lay down on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

I heard a pair of whines a minute later. I sat part way up. The dogs were standing on the floor at the other end of the couch, looking at me with pleading eyes.

I sighed, glancing between them and the end of the couch. "Alright," I relented, and set one foot down onto the floor. The two jumped up almost immediately, curling up against my other leg still on the couch.

I lay back down, my eyes on the ceiling, anxious and angry. Come daylight, I was going to prove to her that I was really here, and not just a figment of her drunken imagination. I was going to prove to her, that I was telling the truth, and I really did need her help. _Desperately_ needed her help.


	9. Ghostbusters

_**Chapter Eight  
**_**Ghostbusters  
**November 4th, 2007  
Toronto, Ontario, Canada  
_Lyse_

_An invisible man sitting in your chair_

I awoke the next morning to the sound of Keifer, Lincoln and Pepper barking with another dog out in the backyard. I sighed. I woke up every Sunday to that sound. Of course, I usually heard Pageen and our neighbours talking in amongst all the barking, but there was no Pageen or neighbours this morning. And why was Pepper outside? She was never up before me…

Ignoring the headache and hangover queasiness, I sat up. I rubbed my eyes, yawning. When I opened my eyes, I was looking through my open bedroom door into the hall. Funny… I never slept with my door open. Well, not wide open. Just enough so the dogs were satisfied.

None of our dogs liked closed doors, and whenever they came across one, they'd whine and whine until someone opened the door. So, to avoid constant annoyance, I left my door open just enough to let them in and out. The thing was, I couldn't remember opening it… Maybe I'd forgotten to close it last night…

Huh… last night. That had certainly been interesting to say the least. Though not sure why, I cautiously looked towards the centre of the room… Nope, no ruggedly handsome man standing there this morning.

I shook my head. I was known for my weird dreams, but last night's took the cake. I'd never dreamt of witches in Oz, or men claiming to be ghosts before. There was a first time for everything I guess.

I flopped back onto my bed, contemplating whether or not to get up. My inward debate quickly became thoughts of the last three days. Dad's diagnosis, Keith missing his promotion, the canceled band practice, the arguments with Pageen and Tony, Pageen's lost job to the prissy bitch on the street behind us… This had really turned into a shitty weekend, and Pageen was probably still upset with what I'd said to her the other night…

I heard the sound of Tony's Corolla running outside. Pageen would be leaving in a few minutes and I figured if I was going to apologize for yelling at her the other night, I'd better do it now.

With a groan, I pulled myself out of bed and headed downstairs. I found Pageen in the kitchen, a half-eaten apple in her right hand, a pen in her left. She was at the breakfast table, her back to me, writing something.

"'Morning, Pay," I said, climbing into the chair across from her.

She looked up slightly startled. "Oh. Good morning." She smiled warmly and set the pen down. Maybe she was okay after all? "I was going to leave you a note, but now I'll just tell you."

"Tell me what?" I set my chin in my hand.

"I'm going up to Tony's parents' for the day," she replied.

"They're in Gravenhurst, right?" I asked.

Pageen nodded. "Yeah."

We were quiet for a moment until I looked up. "What's for breakfast?"

"Oh sweetie, I would," she replied apologetically, "but Tony's waiting for me and we told Jacob and Lynda we'd be there by about noon." She got up from the table and started rummaging around the kitchen.

I looked at the clock on the stove. 9:45am. It was a two and a half hour drive from Toronto to Gravenhurst. I sighed, dejected. "Alright."

She hugged me from behind. "I'm sorry Lyse."

I leaned back against her, squeezing her arm. "I know. It's okay."

She went back to wandering around the kitchen, getting everything she needed.

I watched her for several moments before taking in a breath. I knew what I had to do. "Pageen…?"

"Yeah?" she asked absentmindedly, sidetracked.

"I'm sorry about the other night," I said softly. I felt guilty for yelling at her. She didn't do anything wrong; she was concerned.

Pageen turned to face me, furrowing her eyebrows, feigning confusion. "What about the other night?"

"Pageen…"

She sighed, stopping what she was doing. "Consider it forgotten."

"But I–"

"Lyse," she cut in. "It's okay." She paused, and I could feel an apology coming. "And I was out of line, accusing you. You're upset; you have every right to be." She smiled then. "Seriously sweetie, consider it forgotten; it never happened."

"You sure?" I asked.

Pageen nodded. "Yes. Now, I've got to run upstairs, then I'll be going."

"Okay."

I watched her leave, then got up and moved into the dinning room to let the dogs in. And screamed.

Sitting at the dinning table was a man – the _same_ man as in my dream. I blinked. I couldn't believe it. He was sitting there, plain as anything, looking at me.

"Good morning," he spoke. His lips curved into a smirk – a smirk I would've fallen in love with had I not been so freaked. "Are you ready to listen now?"

I screamed again. I pinched myself. It hurt.

"Lyse?" Pageen's voice came from the kitchen. "Are you okay?

I pointed to the man. He shook his head vehemently, waved his hands frantically. "Don't. She can't see me."

"Look," I said.

Pageen's eyes narrowed, real confusion shaping her face. "What? There's nothing there."

The man buried his face in his hands. "I told you."

My eyes widened even more than they already were. Pageen's eyes weren't focused on him at all. They were searching, trying to find what I was pointing at. Shit… he was right; she really _couldn't_ see him…

"Oh my God, there was a rat!"

"_WHAT?! WHERE?!_" Pageen shrieked. That did it. Pageen hated rats. Apparently, so did he. Upon the word, he leapt from the chair and looked around the room.

I slapped a hand over my mouth to stop the threatening laughter. I'd seen women freak out over a rat, but a man? Not a man… a _ghost_. I thought ghosts weren't afraid of anything…

He saw me laugh and gave me a glare mixed with a sigh of relief. "Funny."

I turned back to Pageen. "It was _huge!_"

"Where did it go?" she squealed.

"It probably ran underneath something," I replied. "I'll get it when you leave."

"Oh, I hope so." Pageen shuddered.

Okay, to get Pageen out of here… "I will, don't worry. Now, get going, before Tony leaves without you."

"Okay." She headed back for the foyer. "I'm probably going to spend the night at Tony's."

"Okay. Say hi to Tony, Jacob and Lynda for me."

"I will. See you tomorrow." She left and the house was quiet.

I stood there, frozen, staring at the man for a long moment, trying to sort everything out. I could see and hear him, yet Pageen couldn't? Was that even possible?

He took a breath. "Are you ready to listen to me now?" he asked, his voice soft and shaped by fatigue.

I opened my mouth, but my throat robbed me of my voice. I swayed on my feet feeling nauseous and dizzy.

Suddenly my bed seemed so appealing.


	10. Vertigo

_**Chapter Nine  
**_**Vertigo  
**_Dean_

_Just give me what I want and no one gets hurt_

The brunette left and the house settled into an awkward silence. The redhead stood there, staring at me in disbelief. I didn't blame her, but it was getting a little unnerving, so I took a breath. "Are you ready to listen to me now?" I asked.

She opened her mouth, but didn't respond. Instead, she headed for the dinning room-foyer doorway. Oh no; she wasn't getting away that easily.

"Wait, please." I reached out to touch her arm. "Don't go." My hand made contact with her skin. I blinked and looked at my fingers then her elbow and back several times. _I touched her… I actually __**touched **__her… Physically touched her._

She stopped and looked at me. I could see the confusion and disbelief in her eyes and I knew her mind was working overtime – like mine – trying to figure everything out. I was half-expecting her to try to escape into the kitchen, but she didn't; she stayed where she was.

"Look," I continued, "I know this is hard to believe – I'm having a hard time of it myself –, but I'm real, if only to you. You're the only person who can see or hear me and I need your help."

She lowered her eyes, then closed them. She pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a frustrated sigh. "Why me? Why now?"

I bit my bottom lip. I had a feeling the past few days had been less than smooth and I was something else that had gone wrong. I knew that upset women had to be dealt with delicately, but dealing with emotions was not my forte. It was Sam's and I wished he was here; he always knew the right thing to say… to anyone. I had been on the receiving end of his comforting words many times. Damn I missed him…

Another frustrated sigh brought me back to the present. She looked back up at me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright," she said, her voice soft. "C'mon." She walked by me and I followed her through the kitchen and into the living room. She motioned to the couch with her hand. "Have a seat."

I sat down on the end closest to the window; she sat on the other. An awkward silence fell between us and remained there for several long moments before she eventually broke it.

"Okay, so what happened to you?" she asked.

I fought back an eye roll. Hadn't she been paying attention last night or had she been too drunk to actually remember anything I'd told her? "Like I told you last night, I don't know what happened to me. All I know is I went to sleep in my car and woke up in yours."

She looked away, her eyes taking on a thoughtful look. "Yeah, I remember you saying something like that last night."

Maybe she _had_ been paying attention? "Look, I have no idea how I got here or why I'm here. I'm just as lost as you are."

She sighed. "Okay, do you remember anything up to that point?"

"What do you mean? Up to what point?"

"Up to the point where whatever happened to you happened."

I sat there, wracking my brain, trying to remember something – anything from before I woke up in the motel room. After a moment, nothing came and I was giving myself another headache. I sighed, frustrated and shook my head. "Nothing." I adjusted myself so I was facing her completely. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember anything."

I cursed inwardly. I couldn't remember anything about what happened or leading up to it. Except hunting those Vampires with Dad in Colorado, but telling her that would only lead to trouble.

She ran a hand through her slightly messy hair. "Well that just complicates things."

"You're telling me."

"I don't even know where to begin with all of this."

Neither did I. And I felt bad for that. If I knew what happened, I'd feel better, but what would I tell her? I had a feeling that whatever happened to me was caused by something supernatural, and given her reactions last night and this morning, I figured the things I hunted wasn't something she believed in.

"I'm just trying to figure out," she spoke again, "why you're like this and why I can see you but Pageen can't. And why even your own brother couldn't see you."

I cringed inwardly. I had an idea of what was happening. Whether or not she would believe me was another story. As to why this girl was the only person who could see me, I was completely lost.

"I'm trying to figure it out too, Lyse."

Her eyes widened and she leaned away from me. "How do you know my name?"

I cringed again. "Your friend said it last night."

Her eyebrows furrowed and she visibly tensed. "How? Pageen can't see you. Unless you got her involved and this is some sick joke."

I bit back a curse. "No, this isn't a joke. She came in earlier and saw the rum on the counter and said your name."

She looked skeptical. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

I really hated that question. I must've heard that question at least a million times in my twenty-eight years. I leaned forward and looked at her, right into her bright sea-green eyes. "Look into my eyes and tell me if you think I'm lying when I tell you that this is not a joke. Your friend can't see me; only _you_ can, and right now, you're the only one who can help me."

Her expression softened and the tension left her shoulders. "I'm sorry," she said softly and she put her hands in her lap, her eyes dropping to look at them. Her deep red hair fell in front of her face, the bangs concealing her eyes. I studied what I could see of her. Her hair fell to just below her shoulders in gentle waves. She had a few extra pounds on her, and wasn't someone I would fall for, but I couldn't deny that she was pretty. Plain, but pretty.

I sighed, realizing I'd probably said what I did a little harsher than I should've. "It's okay," I replied.

Slowly, she rose her head to look at me. "So, you know my name, but I don't know yours."

I chuckled softly. "You're right." I extended my hand. "Dean."

She shook my hand. "Dean…?"

I knew what she was asking for. "Winchester. Dean Winchester."

She repeated my name once, then nodded. "I like it."

I smiled. "What about you; What's your last name?"

"Aizik," she replied. "Not your traditional Isaac though."

I furrowed my brow. "Really? How's it spelt?"

She spelled it out for me.

I shrugged my eyebrows. "Wow. That's original."

"Yeah."

We were quiet for another moment before she spoke up again. "Well, let's go see of we can't find out what happened to you."

_That might me a little impossible_, I thought, but I followed her off of the couch and upstairs. We went into the room on the right and I immediately felt like I'd walked into a forest. The walls were a dark money green, the ceiling and trim were pale green, the sofa and chairs were hunter green, the shelving units, side tables and computer desk were brown and the floors were deep brown hardwood. It was actually rather relaxing.

Lyse moved to sit at the computer beside the window on the left wall. She spun around in the chair to face me. "Last night, you mentioned something about your brother going to see you?"

I guess she'd been paying more attention that I thought. I took back what I'd thought about her being too drunk to remember anything. I nodded. "Yeah, he was talking to our dad, and said he was going to see me."

"Well, that's a good thing."

"It is?"

"Yes," she replied, "because that means you're still alive." Confusion graced her features then. "But what I don't get is, if you're still alive, why are you here in my house?"

"I might have an idea," I said.

"What?"

"Have you ever heard of an out of-body-experience?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but doesn't that usually happen when someone is almost dead?"

_That's comforting_. "Usually. Or if one is in a coma deep enough." I wondered how she knew what she did about out-of-body experiences, but now was not the time to ask; I had a more important matter to deal with.

She spun back around and I moved to stand behind her. I watched her start to type my name into the search engine.

"You won't find anything that way," I said.

"What? What do you mean?"

I kicked myself mentally. Now what was I going to say? "You won't find anything using my real name."

"Why not?"

I cringed. _Think, Dean, think_. I knew what she would find it she punched my real name into the search engine, and that was something I was _not_ willing to risk. "With what my dad, my brother and I do, sometimes we have to go undercover."

Her eyebrows shot up at that. She turned back to me. "So are you guys cops or something?"

"Something like that."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "As if this wasn't complicated enough already," she mumbled. She looked back to me. "Okay, do you remember what the undercover name was?"

I shook my head. "Like I said before, I don't remember anything."

"Right." She sighed. "Then, do you have an idea of what that name might have been?"

"Well, it would be something you normally wouldn't hear." Why was I being as honest as I was about all this? I was usually so good at lying and stretching the truth.

"Like what?" she asked.

I almost laughed. "My father and I once used the names, Bert and Hector Aframian."

"Aframian?" Amused confusion was written all over her face. "What kind of a name is that?"

"See what I mean?" I couldn't figure out what it was keeping me from completely lying. Was it because I desperately needed her help, or was she someone I felt I just couldn't lie to?

She nodded. "Yeah." She turned back to the computer. "There are tons of reasons you could be in a coma… A fall, being beaten up, the coma could be drug induced… a car accident…"

_Or being attacked by something supernatural_… Although, given the amount of time Sam and I spent in the Impala, a car accident was more than possible.

"Car accident maybe?" I said.

"Okay." She turned back to me. "Do you have any idea of where this might have happened?"

I paused for a moment, thinking back to the walk I'd taken when at the motel. I hadn't thought about it then with all the moving around Sam and I did, but I had noticed the State written on the license plates on most of the vehicles. "When I woke up, I was in Missouri."

"That's a start," she said. "And what kind of car do you drive?"

I smiled brightly. "A 1967 Chevy Impala."

She whirled around to face me. "A '67 Impala? Are you serious?"

I almost laughed at her enthusiasm. "Yeah."

"Wow. That's a nice car."

"Yeah, it is." My eyes glazed over slightly. My thoughts drifted to the car I had driven since I was sixteen; the car my father had given to me not long after Sam had gone to Stanford. I knew she was still sitting in that motel parking lot, but I also knew Sam was taking good care of her. Man, I missed that car… almost as much as I missed my brother.

The sound of typing brought be back to reality. A frustrated sigh followed. "Sit tight," she said, "this could take a while."


	11. Building A Mystery

_**Chapter Ten  
**_**Building A Mystery  
**_Lyse_

_Yeah, you're working on it  
__Building a mystery_

I set my chin in my hand and started wading through the links Google brought up. This was going to take a _long_ while. _1967 Impala for sale… Visit Missouri!... Family of 5 injured in car accident…_ I turned back to Dean. "Do you know how many people, including yourself, were in the car?"

"Usually it's just Sam and I," he answered, "but Dad could've been in the car too."

"So, three at most?" I clarified.

He nodded. "Yeah."

I turned back to the computer. That narrowed it down considerably. But I still had a lot to sift through. The State of Missouri was home to well over five million people, most of whom probably owned at least two cars. Of course, there probably weren't too many people who owned and still drove a 1967 Impala. But to make matters worse, the man standing behind me told me not to look for his real name! It was like looking for a needle in a 70,000 square mile haystack.

We were silent for a long while, all that was heard was the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in far right corner of the room and click of the computer mouse as I searched. I heard him moving around behind me. I assumed he was looking at the pictures on the shelving to my left, looking through my books or looking through my music collection. I turned around quickly to see him looking through my CDs. I knew that would keep him busy for a while, for which I was glad. Normally I would watch one go through my things, but I had a mission to complete, so I turned back to the computer and clicked to the next page.

_**-0o0o0-**_

The silence continued for close to an hour, him still going through my music collection. I knew I had quite a few CDs and records, but knowing he was going through my collection – most of which I could describe as expressions of myself – I was getting a little but uncomfortable.

Suddenly, the familiar bells of _Hells Bells _came through the speakers, and I had had enough. Who in their right mind would play a record that didn't belong to them in a strangers' house? I spun around in the chair and took a breath to ask him to turn the record off and leave my stuff alone. Until I saw him sitting on the couch at the far end of the room, eyes closed, head against the back of the couch, relishing the music. I watched him for a brief moment, thankful he'd found something to keep him entertained – other than going through my things. It also gave me something to listen to other than the clock and click of the mouse.

_**-0o0o0-**_

The final song of the album finished and I was beginning to wonder if I would ever find out what happened to him. I was about to tell him he could put another record on, when an article caught my eye. _Family Of 3 Injured In Overnight Crash; 1 Critical_. I clicked on the link.

The name jumped out at me first. "Dean?"

"Yeah?" He got up from the couch.

"Would Elroy McGillicuddy be a name your father would use?"

He snorted. "That sounds like my dad." I felt his hand on the back of my chair. "Why? Did you find something?"

I read the article. As I did, I felt a lump build up in my throat. It only got worse the more I read. I started getting the feeling that this was what I'd been looking for…

"Yeah, I think so…" My voice trailed off when I read the date of the article. _November 4__th__, 2006_.

"Dean…" I spoke, my voice soft. "What day is it today?"

"November 4th. That's what the computer says…"

"And the year?"

"What?" he asked, confused. "Why, don't you know?"

I rolled my eyes and bit back a curse. "Just answer the question."

He sighed. "2006 the last time I checked."

I froze and closed my eyes. I really did not want to be the one to tell him this. I swallowed and took in a breath. "No it's not."

"What?" Confusion lay thick in his voice. "What do you mean, 'No, it's not'?"

"It's not." I chanced a look up him. "It's 2007."

I saw the fear and confusion cross his face, his hazel – or where they green? – eyes widened, his shoulders tensed. I had to look away.

"What are you talking about?" His voice was quiet and wavered.

Fear seeped into me; fear of how he would feel, what he would do when he read the article. I took in a breath and got up. "I think you'd better read this. It was in the Jefferson City News Tribune."

Slowly, Dean sat down and started reading. I stood behind him, re-reading the article over his shoulder.

_November 4__th__, 2006_

_A father, 52, and his two sons, 27 and 23, were rushed to Shiloh County Hospital after their 1967 Chevrolet Impala was t-boned by an eighteen-wheeler on I-9 early this morning._

_The father, Elroy McGillicuddy and his 23 year old son, Sam both sustained minor injuries, while McGillicuddy's other son, Dean lays in a coma having suffered severe blood loss, kidney and liver contusions and severe head trauma and is listed in critical condition._

"_It's a miracle he has survived as long as he has," Dr. Jerry Slava told the Tribune. "He is fighting extremely hard, but it's very touch and go at this point."_

_Doctors are unsure if Dean will wake up, but his family remains hopeful._

"_My brother is a fighter," Sam said, "if there's anyone who can get through this, it's Dean."_

_The driver of the eighteen-wheeler, Daniel Moeser, claims he doesn't remember hitting the family of three. Authorities think he may have fallen asleep behind the wheel. The accident is still under investigation and charges are still pending._

He tensed, his eyes glazed over and the colour drained from his face. His breathing slowed and he didn't move for a long moment. I was getting concerned; I could feel his fear and an emotion that broke my heart – despair. When he didn't say anything, I touched his shoulder.

"Dean?"

He stood up abruptly, shrugging my hand off of his shoulder and started for the door.

"Wait." I reached for his arm, though not sure why.

"Don't," he said, his voice taut. He yanked his arm out of my hand and left the room.

I sighed. I wanted so badly to say something, what was I supposed to say to him? 'Sorry about you being in a coma'?, 'everything will be okay'? How was I going to tell him that when no one – not even the doctors – were sure, and he'd been in that coma for a year? What could I possibly say to make him feel better? I couldn't begin to imagine how he felt, what he was going through…

I looked back to the article, reading it over several more times. I didn't get it. In out-of-body experiences, I didn't think the spirit strayed too far from the body. Why was his body in a Missouri hospital and his spirit here in the Beaches of Toronto? Why would his spirit travel almost a thousand miles from his body – travel to a completely different country? I didn't understand, but I knew he needed my help and I was going to help him in any way I could.

I shut the computer off, then turned and left the room in search of Dean; I had to make sure he was all right.

TBC


	12. The Time Warp

_**Chapter Eleven  
**_**The Time Warp  
**_Dean  
_

_It's astounding, time is fleeting_

I found myself lying on the couch staring up at the ceiling of the living room. My eyes were sore and puffy; dried tears made my cheeks feel a little tight. The journey from Lyse's study to the living room was fuzzy; I couldn't remember leaving the room, going down the stairs, or even the tears I knew I had just shed.

I closed my eyes tight and pinched the bridge of my nose as bits and pieces of everything that had happened prior to the crash fell into place. Exorcising Meg with Bobby trying to convince me otherwise… Meg using her last living moments to try and tell Sam and I where our father was… finding Dad in Jefferson City and saving Sam… the cabin and Dad's possession. Then there were the things that yellow-eyed bastard had said to and about Sam… those phantom claws ripping my flesh… Dad's plea for Sammy to kill him in order to kill the Demon, the Demon getting away… Dad berating Sam in the car for not doing what he'd asked… the lights and grille of the truck coming for the Impala and the sound of shattering glass… the feeling of my head hitting the door and losing consciousness… I remembered _everything_.

According to that news article, both Dad and Sam were alive and well, for which I was more than thankful, but knowing the truth made me feel worse and miss them even more – especially Sam. Who was going to look out for him if Dad had long since gotten back into the hunt and I was in a coma? Was Sammy okay? Had he stayed in Jefferson City with me all this time?

Time. There was something else I couldn't grasp. An entire _year_ had passed? It explained why Sam looked so exhausted – he'd probably spent at least a whole afternoon with me every day –, and why he was talking about me in third person as though I wasn't there. To Sam, I wasn't, leastways not up and about. That also explained the one duffle bag; mine was probably in the trunk of the Impala.

The Impala. She'd looked as good as new. I knew Sam had restored her to her former glory, and that brought a ghost of a smile to my lips. My brother was probably the only person in the world who completely understood how much that car meant to me – she was second only to Sam.

Sam… Damn I missed him. I wished I could just wake up, be there with him, just see him. I wondered if he'd been hunting in that year or if he'd gotten himself a job somewhere in order to pay for my medical bills. I had a feeling it was the latter.

A question then egged at me. If a year had passed and I had only 'woken up' two days ago, what the hell had I done in all that time? Where had I gone? What had happened in that year? I had absolutely no recollection of it; the only things I remembered was the crash, then waking up in Sam's motel room… That was an entire year stolen from my life; a year I would never get back again. And that bothered me. So did knowing I was in two places at once and I was away from my brother with no way to talk to him or even see him. I just wanted to make sure that he was okay…

I heard the stairs creak and soft footsteps enter the living room. I opened my eyes to see Lyse looking at me.

"You okay?" she asked carefully. When I didn't move or answer she sat down on her knees in front of the couch. "You want to talk about it?"

I turned my head to look at her. Her eyes held nothing but genuine concern. "Talk about what?"

"If you remember the accident, what happened before the accident, how you feel about all this…" Her voice trailed off and she swallowed nervously. "You're kind of scaring me with the silence thing."

I winced inwardly. I was scaring her? That was the last thing I wanted to do. I'd never admit it, but I was the one who was scared, and I needed her to be the strong one.

I sat up and scooted to the other end of the couch. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. I chanced a look at her. "I remember."

She got up off of the floor and sat beside me. "What, the accident?"

"Everything," I answered. "The accident, everything that happened before the accident." I kicked myself mentally. I'd said more than I needed to – _again_.

"What _did_ happen?" she asked.

"What do you mean? You saw the article."

"I know, but I want to hear it from you," she said. "All of it.

"Including everything before the crash?"

"If you feel up to it."

In truth, I _didn't_ feel up to it. I really didn't want to lie to her, but what would she do if I told her the truth? Sure, she knew about out-of-body experiences – which I wanted to ask her about –, but what about her reaction last night when I told her I thought I was ghost? She'd chalked it up to a drunken hallucination. Of course, she eventually dismissed that theory earlier…

If I wasn't going to tell her the whole truth, what _was_ I going to tell her? What could I say that she would believe? I couldn't just omit what happened before the crash; not after I'd told her I remembered all of it.

I looked over to her and suddenly wished I could tell her the complete and honest truth. Just the look in her eyes, like she needed to know the truth of what happened. But, I remember the last time I opened up enough and told someone the family secret. She'd immediately called me crazy and jumped to the conclusion I just wanted to dump her, which couldn't have been farther from the truth. I didn't want the same thing here. The last thing I needed was for Lyse not to believe my story.

'_Just keep it simple'_. I heard Sam's voice in my mind, and again wished he was here; he'd have just the right thing to tell her – a story she'd believe.

I took a breath, hoping that what I was about to tell her would be believable.

"Sam, Dad and I were deer hunting, and we'd rented a cabin in the woods outside of Jefferson City. I don't really know what happened, if Sam went after a deer and Dad got in the way or what, but Sam shot Dad in the leg." I looked up at Lyse. Her eyes had never left me and she appeared to be buying the lie. "With no cell reception, Sam and I got Dad into the Impala and we were about ten minutes away from the hospital when the truck hit us."

She didn't say anything for quite a while. Her eyes had glazed over, and it looked like she was trying to take in what I'd just told her. Meanwhile, I continued to hope she'd bought the story.

"Wow," she whispered. "That's amazing."

My head snapped to her. What the hell did she mean by that? "What?"

"The circumstances I mean," she answered. "The fact that Sam and your Dad escaped the crash with only minor injuries. And the fact that you're still alive with all of your injuries. Any other person would be dead by now."

"Yeah, well, I'm not any other person." That much was true. Most people didn't crisscross America hunting ghosts and demons all day everyday for a living without more pay than a thank you.

A smile tugged at her lips, but only for a fleeting moment. Her eyes became serious again, but soft. "Seriously Dean, you've got someone looking out for you."

"Like what?"

"A guardian angel maybe," she answered.

I snorted. "Yeah right, that's bull. The only ones who have ever looked out for me are Dad, Sam and myself."

Her eyes lowered. "So, you're just going to chalk it up to luck?"

"What else could it be?"

Slowly, cautiously, her eyes rose to meet mine. "You mean, you don't believe in–"

"What, fate?" I cut in.

She shook her head. "No, not fate. But don't you believe that there may be someone watching over you like God, or angels or a spirit guide?"

It was my turn to shake my head. "I believe in what I can see with my own two eyes." And that included things the majority of society refused to believe existed.

She shrugged. "Well, you're not the only one."

I looked over at her. "Why, do you believe the same way?"

"No, but my sister does."

I rose an eyebrow. "Really? Then, what do you believe in?"

"God, angels." An embarrassed blush crept into her cheeks, "the supernatural…"

I blinked. "The supernatural?"

The blush deepened. "Yeah, I know. It's not something a lot of people believe in."

"Oh no, I believe in it too," I answered. "But what kind of supernatural? It's kind of a broad spectrum."

She seemed a little taken aback by the question. "Uh… Poltergeists mostly, but I also believe in spirits, Demons, Vampires, Wendigos–"

"Wendigos?" _Maybe I could've told her the truth…_

"Yeah," she answered, her expression soft, her eyes easy. "You ever heard of Kenora, Ontario?"

I nodded. Almost every hunter in the world knew about Kenora, Ontario. "That's the Wendigo Capital of the World, isn't it?"

"It is, and it's right in this province."

_Whoa, back up!_ "What? Province?"

She looked at me for a moment, the lightness fading from her expression. "You don't know where you are, do you?" It was more of a statement than a question.

I shook my head. "No I don't."

She sighed. "You're probably not going to like this, but you're in Toronto."

"_Canada?!_" I exclaimed. "How the hell did I get all the way up here?"

"I have no idea, Dean."

I stared at the space between the cushions of the couch. Canada? How did I get all the way from Jefferson City to Toronto? Why would I be sent so far away from Sam? Now that I was here, would I ever see him again? That question scared me more than knowing I was 900 miles away from him.

"You okay?" her voice, once again soft, cut through my reverie.

I wanted to tell her I was fine, but I wasn't, and I didn't want to lie to her anymore. "Not really. I'm just trying to figure everything out."

"You and me both," she answered. "I'm trying to figure out why you're here; why I'm the only one who can see and hear you."

That sent a question pinching at my brain. "Me too. The thing is, I prayed… And I don't even believe in God or a greater good; I never have Sam does and he believes hard."

Her eyes narrowed in confusion. "Then, why did you pray?"

"I don't know," I replied softly. I did know why, though. Again, I could hear Sam's voice in the back of my mind, 'Maybe it's time to have some faith, Dean.' I'd always ignored those words, but they were ringing far clearer now than they ever had. I looked at Lyse. "I guess I prayed for help, though, no offence, you weren't what I was expecting."

She smiled while her eyes steady. "God works in mysterious ways."

I blinked. I'd heard those words before, from Layla only moments before Reverend LaGrange chose to heal me, a decision he'd claimed was from God.

"But, I don't even believe in Him," I said, maybe a little too fervently.

"That doesn't matter, Dean," she answered, that soft expression still on her face, her voice still gentle. "He hears a non-believer's prayer all the time. Where do you think the believers come from?"

That made me stop for a moment. "True… But it still doesn't make me feel much better." Normally, the idea of being saved would comfort anyone, but for some reason it didn't do much for me. I mean, sure, knowing I'd probably just been saved sent some relief through my body, but it didn't do much in the way of settling me. Maybe it was because I was still confused, or because I was in a place I'd never been before… Or maybe it was the uncertainty of everything from what I'd done in the year between the accident and now, or the thought that something supernatural, like the Yellow-Eyed Demon could be behind this… Or maybe I was just scared?

"Are you hungry?" she asked suddenly. Her eyes then took on a cautious look. "Do you even still eat?"

I almost laughed. "Yes, I still eat. And I'm starving." Now that I thought about it, I hadn't had anything to eat since I'd stolen half of Sam's fries two days ago.

She smiled. "Then, I think I know just what to make to help you feel better." And with that, she got up and headed for the kitchen, leaving me rather confused.


	13. Getting To Know You

_**Chapter Twelve  
**_**Getting To know You  
**_Lyse_

_All the beautiful and new  
__things I'm learning about you_

I pulled the ingredients out of the fridge – eggs; cheese; green, yellow, sweet red peppers; and mushrooms. The frying pan was already on the stove just waiting to be used. I cracked the eggs into a bowl and as I whipped them with a fork, my mind went to Dean and everything that had happened in the past six hours. I'd gone from meeting what I thought was a drunken hallucination, to housing a real man caught in an out-of-body experience. I could only imagine what he was going through at this moment; I mean, only maybe thirty minutes ago he had read that article and everything had come back to him. Not only that, the article claimed the accident had happened an entire year ago. I had a feeling he didn't remember that year. How was he knowing there was a whole year missing from his life that couldn't be accounted for? I couldn't imagine going through that myself.

I could feel curious eyes behind me, watching me. I turned around and Dean was standing at the breakfast table, a very cute confused look on his face.

"Dean!" I exclaimed. This was supposed to be a surprise. "Go."

"But I want to know what you're–"

I shooed him with my hands. "It'll be done in ten minutes max." I herded him out of the kitchen.

"Okay, okay," he relented with a pout, "I'm going." He disappeared back into the living room, and I returned to the stove to finish making the omelette.

"Where were these pictures taken?" I heard him ask a moment later. "The ones with you and your friend."

"On the road trips she and I have been on," I answered, working my way through the peppers. "We go on one every year."

"Where have you two been?" he asked.

"We've been to Banff, Alaska, we just got back from Kenora a month ago," I answered. "But that's not including the trips with my family."

He came to stand in the foyer as I threw everything into the frying pan. "Where have you been with your family?"

"Vegas, California, Kansas–"

"Kansas?" he cut in. He poked his head into the kitchen, a questioning look on his face. "Where in Kansas? And can I at least stand inside the kitchen?"

"Lawrence." I turned around. "And yes you can stand in the kitchen."

"Lawrence?" he repeated. He stepped inside. "Really?"

I glanced at him over my shoulder. "Yeah, why, you know the city?"

"I was born there," he said. "But what took you to Lawrence? It's not exactly a prime vacation spot. Unless you were there to see the Stull Cemetery."

"No, I wasn't there to go to Stull. My aunt and uncle passed away last summer," I answered.

A hint of sympathy flashed across his face. "I'm sorry."

A sad smile was my 'thank you' response as I reached for two plates.

"But I guess you have other family there too?" he continued.

I nodded. "Most of my Dad's family is there. He was born there and lived there until he met my mom and moved to Chippewa Falls." I turned to Dean. "What do you want to drink?"

"Coffee if that's okay?" he asked.

"Do you mind if it's instant? I don't have time to brew a pot."

He shook his head. "No, I don't mind."

I filled the electric kettle, then dished the omelette onto the plates. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Just the way it is."

I turned around. "No sugar or cream?"

"Nope."

I scrunched my nose. "Really?"

He nodded. "Wouldn't have it any other way." He smiled. "I take it you like it with lots of sugar."

I chuckled. "Yeah." I brought the plates to the breakfast table. "Have a seat."

A relieved smile emulated from him and he made a beeline for the table as I got the coffee mugs out of the cupboard and the utensils out of the drawer.

"This looks good," he said. "It smells good too. What's all in it?"

"Cheese, green, yellow, sweet red peppers and mushrooms." I handed him a knife and fork, then put the instant coffee, coffee mugs, salt, pepper and ketchup on the table as well as my own knife and fork. I heard him cut into the omelette as I got the boiled kettle.

"Wow." He sounded surprised. I turned around to read his reaction. "This is good… very good." His eyes told no lie.

I sighed inwardly, relieved he liked it. "Thanks. My mother taught me how to make it."

"Did she come up with it?"

I poured the hot water into the mugs and sat down across from Dean. "No, my grandmother did. It was during the Depression. She was fifteen, her father had run out on the family and her mother had passed away, so it was just her and her younger siblings. The only food left in the house was what's in this omelette and they couldn't get more until the next day. So, my grandmother cooked everything up and they didn't go hungry that night."

"Wow, sounds like a lot of love went into this," he said.

"Oh, it did," I replied, "always did. Now, when I make it, it's usually to cure a hangover or to help someone feel better."

His smile faded slightly. "Well, it certainly worked here." He passed me a grateful smile; his eyes looked into mine unwaveringly. "Thank you, Lyse."

"You're welcome, Dean."

_**0o0o0**_

We ate in a comfortable silence, and I used the time to study him. His eyes – which I still couldn't tell if they were green or hazel – held a high degree of experience; what that experience was from, I couldn't tell. What had life dished out to him to warrant such a large amount of it? I wondered what those eyes had seen over the years of his life. Along with experience, thought and slight confusion added their own layers, but the fear had dissipated and the despair had vanished. I smiled inwardly knowing this simple meal had done what it had been intended to do – cheer him up.

He set his knife and fork on his plate, having finished, and looked at me, question resting behind his eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

I nodded. "Yeah of course."

"When you were telling me about the supernatural things you believed in," he said, "you said you mostly believed in Poltergeists. Can I ask why?"

I was taken aback by the question. Nobody had ever asked me that seriously. It was usually in a tone as to say, '_why the hell would you believe in something like that?_'.

I set my knife and fork down on my plate, then pushed it towards the centre of the table and propped my elbows on the table.

I took a breath, bringing the memories out from what my then-child eyes had seen. "It was eighteen years ago, my family lived in Chippewa Falls. I was four when it all started, so I don't remember everything, but there was a Poltergeist in our house."

"A Poltergeist?" Dean cut in. "What happened?"

"I guess it had been there all the time, but things didn't start happening until Miriam – my sister – was nine or ten months old. It started off as small things, like my brother would say that he felt something or someone was watching him whenever he went into Miriam's nursery. Mom, of course, told him it was just his imagination." I paused to take a sip of my coffee and to remember what else had happened. "But, then it started to make itself more known with the sound of scratching, the lights would flicker, the sinks would back up. Next, it would throw things at anyone who was in the room."

"Even you?" Dean asked. Belief was the only emotion I could see in his eyes, and his full attention was on me and the story I was telling. I was relived and grateful I'd finally met someone – other than Pageen, Tony and those who remembered it – who actually completely and seriously believed me.

I nodded. "Even me." I lowered my gaze, preparing to tell him the rest. "About a month or two after it all started, the Poltergeist got really mean and would shake Miriam's crib. One night, I could hear Miriam fussing – my door was right across the hall from the door of her nursery –, and so I got up to check on her. When I got there, her crib was shaking so hard I thought either it was going to break or she was going to fall out." My eyes were fixed on my empty plate, but they weren't focusing on it. My mind was working too hard to allow my eyes to focus on anything. "I don't know how I did it, but I managed to unlock the side of the crib, and I reached in and pulled her out. By that time, Mom, Dad and Keith were there. Mom took Miriam and Keith grabbed my hand and we booked and stayed with my Dad's mom for a couple of weeks."

"Was Miriam okay?" Dean asked. "Was anything done about the Poltergeist?"

Again, I nodded, my eyes returning to life. "Miriam was scared shitless, but she was fine. As for the Poltergeist, I don't remember much, but from what I _do_ remember and what my mother told me, this man helped us out. He seemed to know an awful lot about the supernatural like he'd been dealing with it for years. Anyway, he went to the house and got rid of the Poltergeist." I took a sip of my coffee and looked up at Dean. "I don't know why, but the only thing that I've never forgotten, is the man's last name."

Dean's attention had never left me. "What was it?"

"Winchester."


	14. Every Mile A Memory

**_Chapter Thirteen _  
Every Mile A Memory **

_Dean _

From some old movie going back and time to you and me 

I blinked. "Winchester?" The only Winchester I knew of who was hunting eighteen years ago was my father. Could my father have helped her family get rid of the Poltergeist? Were Sam and I involved somehow? It was more than possible. She said she'd only been four when it all started – I'd have been ten… If we did help her family, I didn't remember. Over the twenty-four years Dad's been hunting, all of the jobs were kind of moulded into one, with the odd exceptions. Like Fort Douglas, Wisconsin and the Schtriga, Lake Manitoc, Jenny and Mom's Spirit in our old house, the odd werewolf or shapeshifter hunt. I shuddered inwardly at the thought of shapeshifters. Ever since St. Louis, it was next to impossible for me to introduce myself as Dean Winchester, especially to any form of government or police officials, because according to the St. Louis police department, Dean Winchester from Lawrence, Kansas no longer existed. Of course, that name probably had millions of outstanding parking tickets, trespassing, grave-digging and fraud charges attached to it. But for once, I was being helped by someone who had no idea who I really was and I could give her my real name without any complications – at least from what I could tell.

"Yeah," Lyse answered. She looked at me and I could see she was trying to connect me to the name. "Coincidence?"

"I don't know," I replied. Though I'd usually been one to chalk thinks up to coincidence, I didn't want it to be. What could I ask her to jog her memory? "Do you think you could maybe remember what his first name was?"

Her eyes narrowed and glazed over. I could almost hear the wheels turning in her head double time as she tried to pull out a memory from near the back of the deep filing cabinet in her mind. She looked up a moment later, a look of defeat in her eyes. "No." The defeat suddenly melted from her eyes and they glazed over again, this time as though she was remembering something. "But now that I think about it, I remember there was this boy – the man's son. He was maybe ten, and kinda cute."

I found myself smiling slightly at the 'kinda cute' line, which she returned. Her smile faded and she took a breath. "But he stayed with us – Keith, Miriam and I while his father and my parents dealt with the Poltergeist." Her eyes glazed over again. "I've never forgotten him. He made me feel safe that night; safer than I'd ever been through the whole ordeal." She smiled faintly. "I still think about him from time to time and kinda wonder where he is now, what he's doing, if he's followed in his father's footsteps. I've just never forgotten him."

The more she talked, the less it seemed like coincidence. I'd have been about ten when this all happened if my math was correct, and the only Winchester I knew who could've helped back then, was my father… I looked up to her. "Do you remember what the kid's name was?"

She shook her head. I could see a hint of guilt and embarrassment in her eyes. "No, I'm sorry." Her expression changed then. Realization and curiosity seeped in her face. She looked up at me, meeting my eyes. "But I know someone who might." She got up from the table and retrieved a cordless phone from the counter.

"Who?" I asked, watching her move around.

She came back to the table, the phone in her hand, thumb dialing a number. She put the phone to her ear, her hair falling over her hand, partially concealing the receiver. "My mom."

I leaned forward, anxious to find everything out.

"Hey Mom."

So the conversation began.

"I'm good and you?…Good, how's Dad?…"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I knew she couldn't just ask about what happened eighteen years ago right off the bat, but all the waiting, the double-time work my brain was doing was getting to me.

"…Good, tell him I say hi." The conversation continued. "…Not much here… Right… Listen, can I ask you something?"

Progress! Maybe. Here was hoping her mother remembered everything.

"This may seem random, but do you remember when the Poltergeist was in our house back in Chippewa Falls?… Right, well do you remember the father and son who helped us out?"

Her eyes narrowed; it almost seemed as though she were trying to remember more of what happened. Damnit I wished I could hear both sides of the conversation. To say I was a little anxious was an understatement. My right knee bounced. I wanted to find out what all happened with that Poltergeist, especially if there was a possible connection here.

"There were _two_ boys?" she asked. "I thought there was only one."

More progress! Two boys? What else did Lyse's mother remember?

"You wouldn't happen to remember all their names, would you? The father and the boys?" Lyse's voice broke through my moving thoughts.

I leaned in farther. I wished I could just jump up and pick up a phone in another room, but that would be rude and Lyse's mother would hear the click of the lifting receiver.

"The father's name was John?" Lyse asked. Her eyes moved to me.

My eyed widened, and I swallowed. The father who'd helped them was John Winchester? My gut told me it was my father. I took a breath. "What about the kids?" I whispered.

She held up a finger, indicating her mother was still talking. "Right…" She was quiet for a couple of minutes, and then, "What about the boys? Do you remember their names?"

My anxiety grew as she went quiet again. She noticed and passed me a smile. She slipped her other hand over the speaker of the receiver.

"Don't worry," she said quietly. "My mother has an excellent memory."

"I hope so."

"Oh, Pageen was just asking if it was Sunday," she cut in quickly. Her mother must have heard her talking to me. Lyse sighed in relief, which I figured to mean her mother bought the lie. "Anyway, back to the boys."

Another brief silence followed, and then, "Sam? The younger one was Sam?" She looked at me.

I blinked. "Sam? That's my brother's name," I told her quietly. "What about the older one?"

She held up her index finger again, and asked her mother my question. Her head then snapped up and she stared at me wide-eyed. "Dean was the older one?" She was barely able to say that question coherently.

My mind began to race. Could Sam and I have stayed with Lyse and her siblings? Could we have met eighteen years ago? My gut was telling me this was no coincidence.

It took a few minutes for Lyse to get off of the phone, but when she did, neither of us spoke for several long moments. I could see she was trying connect me with the ten year old boy who'd kept her safe almost two decades ago.

"That boy was you?" She broke the silence, her eyes on me, voice quiet.

"That's what it looks like, yeah," I answered. "And honestly, I don't think I can chalk it up to coincidence. Everything is there; John is my father, Sam is my brother, the last name, the fact we were hunting a Poltergeist…"

"Everything supports it," she cut in.

"Exactly."

She tapped the table twice lightly. "Then I think I know why you're here."

My eyes snapped to her. "You do?"

She nodded. "You said you prayed, right? Prayed for help?"

"Yeah."

She smiled suddenly. "You helped me eighteen years ago; you kept me safe. I guess God feels it's time that I return the favour."

I thought about that for a moment. I supposed it was possible. Either way, my prayer had been answered and I was with someone who was more than willing to help me. To say I wasn't still a little scared would've been a lie, but I certainly felt better than I did this morning. Whether it was the omelette or Lyse – or both – I hadn't yet decided.


	15. Memories

Okay, I am NOT dead! It took a lot longer than it should have to get this chapter finished and posted. I thank those who have been patient with me, and I hope you enjoy this next installment!

Disclaimer: See previous chapters

Special thanks to Amy (amyjonas) for beta'ing this fic for me! She's endured a lot with this fic, and deserves all the Sam!clones I can find!

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Memories**

_Feelings that you could live just once_

_Somebody is left in your mind _

_Lyse_

We were silent for several minutes, both soaking in the events of the past eight hours. I got up from the breakfast table, taking the used dishes and slipping them in the dishwasher. I took the frying pan from the stovetop and filled the sink with water. I heard the sound of one of the breakfast chairs sliding back from the table, and the sound of footsteps.

I rinsed the frying pan and moved to lay it in the second sink. Except, it didn't end up there. It was taken from my hand. I turned my head and jumped.

Dean was beside me, a dishtowel in his right hand, the wet frying pan in his left.

I blinked. "You don't have to do that," I said, "You can just leave it in this sink."

"It's okay." He quickly dried the pan, then turned to me. "Where does this go?"

"You can just leave it on the counter for now," I replied.

"You sure?" he asked, "If you tell me where it goes, I–"

"It's okay, I'll put it away later."

He set the frying pan at the back of the counter and I started to wipe down the stovetop and the counter immediately next to it. The sound of nails scratching an aluminium door made me stop. Pepper barked from outside.

"Oh shit," I sighed and hung the dishcloth over the spout of the sink.

Dean looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"The dogs are still outside," I answered. I felt like an idiot for forgetting about them.

I opened the side door; three balls of fur streaked past me, heading for the kitchen, nailing clinking against the hardwood of the dinning room and the tile of the kitchen. Keifer and Lincoln barked happily and approached Dean. Pepper, meanwhile, stayed away, ears back, tail between her legs, barking.

Dean bent down to pet Keifer and Lincoln and nearly received death by licking. He just about fell over trying to pull his face away; the dogs won in the end.

"They like you," I chuckled.

"Yeah, I can see that." He stood up, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. His eyes fell on Pepper, who was no longer barking, but still wary. "This one doesn't."

I bent down to the Corgi, petting her soothingly. "She just doesn't trust you. Once she gets to know you, she'll be fine."

"I hope so."

I stopped then, and looked from the dogs to Dean and back several times, a little confused. "Wait a minute…" I looked up at Dean. "The dogs see you… they can feel you when you pet them… the boys just _kissed_ you…"

He smiled softly at Lincoln and Keifer, then looked at me. "Animals do have a heightened sense of the Supernatural. The boys were the first ones to see me when I came in; sent your friend for a spin when they greeted me and she couldn't see me."

I nodded. "I've read about that somewhere…" I looked at Dean. "Well, I guess I'm not the only one who can see you."

He appeared to be relieved by that. "Yeah I guess." He looked to the dogs. "So, who are these guys?"

"The Schnauzer is Keifer, the Dachshund is Lincoln," I replied. "And this one," I hugged my Corgi, "is Pepper. The boys are Pageen's; Pepper's mine."

Dean bent down and patted Keifer and Lincoln, then took a step towards Pepper. A low growl came the pup. Dean immediately backed up.

I petted Pepper's head, looking at her. "It's okay, sweetie." I stood up. "Dean's a friend." I took a step towards Dean, my arms stretched out. He gave me a confused look. "Hug me," I said.

He blinked. "What?"

"Hug me," I repeated. "If Pepper sees that I trust you, maybe she'll be able to trust you too."

"Oh, uh, okay…" He stepped in, and gently wrapped his arms around me.

It felt rather weird hugging someone I'd only actually met an hour ago. Well, it wasn't really a hug. Our arms were loose around each other, and his seemed very cautious. But that wasn't the strangest part of it… I was hugging a _Spirit_ and could actually _feel_ him, _touch_ him as if he were as solid as a human.

I looked at Pepper to gauge her reaction and as I did, I felt Dean's arms tighten around me slightly before I released him.

Pepper appeared to calm down a bit, though still eyed the man cautiously.

Dean looked between Pepper and I a couple of times. "Looks like it worked."

"Partially."

Dean rose an eyebrow. "Partially?"

"She doesn't hate you anymore," I answered.

Dean looked back to Pepper. "Well, that's a start I guess." He looked up at me and smirked.

I smiled. "Just give her some time; she'll come around."

Dean looked at the dog again. "She sure is protective. Has she always been like that?"

I nodded. "Yeah. At least she was after I rescued her."

"You rescued her? From what?"

"I found her on the side of the highway last year," I replied. "It was raining hard and I thought I saw something on the shoulder of the highway. So, I slowed down just in time to see it was puppy. It ran inside this cardboard box that was maybe five or six feet from the shoulder, and about ready to collapse. I wasn't about to leave her there, so I pulled over. She wouldn't let me near her at first; she kept trying to bite my hand every time I reached for her… I was going to my family reunion that morning, and I had cold cuts in the car, so I laid a trail of ham and turkey from the box to the backseat of the car, got the blanket from the trunk and waited. She eventually came out, followed the food and I wrapped her up in the blanket and took her to the reunion with me and she's been with me ever since."

"Wow," Dean nigh on whispered. I wasn't sure what he found more fascinating; the fact she was just left on the side of the highway or the fact I had rescued her. "Was she unwanted or a stray?"

"I think she was unwanted. I guess a parent had bought her for their child and the child didn't want her, so they just left her on the side of the highway. Why they didn't drop her off at the Humane Society, I don't know."

Silently, Dean shook his head.

"I know," I sighed. I knelt down and scratched Pepper behind her ears. "But she's got a home now."

"And a good home by the looks of it."

I lifted my eyes to Dean. I hadn't been expecting that. "Thank you," I smiled.

"You're welcome," he replied. He promptly cleared his throat however. I assumed soft conversations were not his speciality.

"Are we just going to stand around the kitchen all day?" he asked.

With a slight blush, I stood up. "Uh, I don't know. What do you want to do?"

A soft shrug was his response. "I don't know… I guess there's not much we _can_ do."

Reluctantly, I shook my head. "Not really, considering…"

He gave me a small nod. "Yeah…"

I tried to think of something. "We could take a walk along the boardwalk if there aren't too many people, we could take a drive around the city…" I smiled, grasping at straws now. "Or, I've got some ancient board games down in the basement just collecting dust…"

He sent an amused smile my way. "Board games?"

I laughed, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah… That's all I can think of."

"No, no, that's okay," he said. His eyes were kind, not critical. "That actually might be fun. I haven't played one since I was a kid; not since I bought the game of Monopoly for my brother's birthday." His eyes glazed over and I could feel he had something further to say.

"Sam was eight," he began, "I was twelve, and our father's job took him away a lot, often for two or three days at a time, and Sam and I would just go stir crazy. We had the basics; food on the table, a roof over our heads, and for fun we had the TV, the radio, a couple soccer balls, a football; but they would only suffice for so long. So, I saved up my allowance money from Dad, and bought Sam the Monopoly game. On the evening of Sam's birthday, Dad left on business, and it wasn't too long before the two of us were going nuts. So, I pulled out the game, and man, did we have fun. Just the two of us, sitting on the floor, learning how to play the game. I didn't have to teach him anything. Sure, I helped him count his money at the end, helped him calculate the rent and income percentages, but no one was better than the other. If one of us was wrong, we both were…" He smiled wistfully; his eyes seemed to be seeing something just out of reach, something he felt he would never see again. "God, that night was so much fun…"

I'd studied him all through his reminiscing, memories of a simpler time returning to me. It made me wonder what had happened in this man's life to make him feel the way he did about a simple game of Monopoly he'd had with his brother when they were kids.

"You miss him, don't you?" I said, "your brother."

Dean's eyes rose to meet mine, and he nodded. "Yeah… More than anything."

I gave him a sympathetic smile. "Would it hurt too much to play a game now?"

He shook his head. "No, not at all… I'd like that actually."

My sympathetic smile transformed into a real one. "C'mon with me and we'll get it."

He turned around as I headed for the hallway. "Okay."


	16. New

I apologize for the uber long wait for the this chapter, and hopefully with the new season, my updates will be faster rather than slower. Thanks to all of those who have been patient and endured the not-deserved and too long waits. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: See Prologue

VERY Special thanks to: Amy (amyjonas), who continues to be a wonderful beta'er and gives me wonderful advice on this fic. This fic would not be what it is without her! Ships more Sam!clones and Mini!Sams to her

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

**New**

_You're not old_

_And you're not familiar_

_Recently discovered and I'm learning about you _

_Dean_

I followed her down to the basement, and my jaw just about fell to the floor. Around the room stood six guitars; three acoustics, two electric, and one bass; an 88-key electric keyboard and a three piece drum set. This girl had a band room in her basement?

I approached one of the guitars, a black acoustic. I gently ran a couple of fingers over the ebony head. I wanted to strum the strings, but held back. I knew people could be quite anal about others touching their things. Instead, I opted to stare at assembly of instruments.

"Are all these yours?" I asked finally.

Lyse stepped back from the closet beside the stairs. "Are what all mine?"

I motioned to the instruments. "All these."

"Oh, not everything," she answered. "The guitars and the keyboard are. The drum set is Pageen's boyfriend's." She stepped back into the closet again. "Why, do you play?"

"No," I replied. "I wish, but I wouldn't have the slightly idea how to. But I'm assuming, you do?"

"Yeah; guitar mostly."

"Really? What do you play?"

"A little bit of everything," she replied. Though her voice was slightly muffled by the closet, I heard it perk up.

"Like what?"

"Uh… Journey, a little Metallica, Shania Twain, ACDC—"

"Metallica and ACDC?" I cut in. I liked this girl already.

"Yeah. You like them?" she asked. "Well, I know you like ACDC."

"I love them," I replied. "Do you think you could play something?"

She poked her head out. "Play something for you?"

I nodded. "If you want to… If not, that's okay…" I didn't want to force her to do something, especially if she didn't want to. I knew the feeling of force only all too well.

Her light snicker sent relief coursing through me.

"I can if you want." She left the closet, and made a beeline for an orange electric guitar, its shade growing darker the closer it got to the middle. She quickly plugged it in to a nearby amplifier, then grabbed a pick and threw the guitar strap over her shoulder.

A pensive look crossed her face and I realized she didn't know what I wanted to hear.

"Play anything," I said, "I don't care." Really, I sort of did, but this was her house, she was playing her guitar and I was merely a guest. An unexpected, _uninvited_ guest, but a guest nonetheless.

She smiled suddenly. "I'm still working on this, but you should recognize it."

"Okay."

I watched her place her fingers on the frets, then she started playing. I smiled, next to immediately recognizing the song. It was _Thunderstruck_. She really could play ACDC.

She looked at me and smiled. Her head started bobbing and I realized mine was too. But there was something else. Her eyes seemed to light up, and the guitar no longer seemed like just an instrument. It was like the guitar had become a part of her and the music she played wasn't coming from it; it was coming from her. When she looked at me, I knew what she was sharing with me was her love, her art form, her way of expressing herself, and like me, what often kept her from going insane. The power of music had always amazed me and for that reason, I respected it.

She stopped when the riff began getting repetitious. She smiled when she saw my bright one. "I thought you'd recognize it."

"That was good," I said. And I meant it. She was an excellent guitar player. "And you're still working on it?" To me, it was next to perfect, if not already there.

She blushed. "That was probably the best I've played it in a while. My friend is tired of playing it at shows, so he's given it to me."

I blinked. "What? Shows?"

She unplugged the guitar from the amplifier. "I'm in a band."

"A band?" I repeated. No wonder she was as good as she was.

"Yeah. We're just a cover band though," she answered. She set the guitar back on the stand.

"What do you cover?"

She turned the amplifier off. "We're everything from the bands I mentioned before to Elvis, The Beatles, Beach Boys, Chuck Berry to Garth Brooks to Josh Groban. We all have different influences and it's only fair to incorporate as many of them as we can." She moved back to the closet. "I, personally, love all of them."

"Sounds like a pretty long list." I'd heard of all the artists that she'd mentioned, except the last one.

"Oh yeah," she sighed. "It can cause some headaches when we're discussing set lists."

"I can only imagine," I replied.

"Found it!" she exclaimed suddenly. The pieces moved in the box as she pulled it out. "I am victorious!"

I tried to force back a laugh, and I applauded her achievement.

She pulled her head out of the closet and sent me a playful annoyed look. "Shut up."

"What? I didn't say anything!" I rose my hands in defence.

"Well, then don't think about what you're thinking about…" She was struggling and probably realized she wasn't going to win.

I rose an eyebrow. She also didn't make any sense. "Excuse me?"

She blushed, hanging her head. "Yeah, that didn't make any sense."

"You said it, not me," I quipped.

"You weren't supposed to agree with me!"

"Oh, I wasn't?"

"No!"

She looked at me, shaking her head. I could tell she was on the verge of laughter. "Let's just play the damn game."

"Okay, sounds good." I followed her back upstairs.

"Where do you want to play?" she asked. "Dinning room table, breakfast table?" She looked at me, her smile fading slightly. "Living room floor for memory's sake?"

Damn this girl knew how to pay attention. A table would be ideal, but I found myself wanting to sit on the living room floor to play it, just like I had with Sam sixteen years ago. But what would she say? Would she laugh at me?

_Of course not, Dean_, my mind cooed, _She's the one who suggested it._

The other side of my mind was quick to counter, as usual. _She may have suggested it, but it doesn't mean she'll expect you to do it._

I cursed inwardly. Only one way to find out.

"Would it be okay if we played it on the living room floor?" I asked cautiously.

She smiled warmly. "Of course. Keith, Miriam and I used to play it there all the time when we were kids."

I sighed in relief. She understood where I was coming from. Maybe I should listen to the positive side of my brain more often.

We moved into the living room and she set everything up in the space between the furniture and the window. I sat down at the other end of the board.

"What do you want to be?" she asked.

"The car," I smiled.

"Oh sure." She passed me a playful, disappointed look, but handed me the tiny silver die-cast play piece. She picked up the Scottie Dog, then we rolled the dice to see who was to go first.

I won the draw, and the game began. And it continued fine.

Until she landed on and bought Boardwalk. Something told me from here on in, all I was going to do was land on it and pay the 50 rent fee.

I gave her a playful scowl and she returned it with a grin.

"Do we have a problem?" she teased.

"Yes," I pouted. "Just don't buy Park Place too."

"Why not? Don't want to have to pay double the rent?"

"No!"

She laughed and went to hand me the dice, but stopped.

"C'mon, pass the dice."

"C'mon, sweetie," she spoke.

I rose my eyebrows. What the hell was she doing? Then I saw her eyes. They were focused to my left. I twisted myself around and saw what Lyse was looking at.

The Corgi was sitting just inside the living room doorway, staring at me. Her ears were back, and she regarded me with caution. It was almost like she was afraid I was going to hurt Lyse. For such a little thing, she certainly made a good guard dog.

"Dean's not going to hurt you," Lyse spoke again.

"She still doesn't like me, does she?" I looked at Lyse.

"It's not a matter of like, Dean, it's trust," she said. "If she still didn't like you, she'd be growling like crazy if not chewing off your hand."

"She did snap at me earlier when I was in your room."

"Because at the time, you were a threat. To me and to her. Everyone is a potential threat to her, even the mailman." She turned back to the board. "It took her about two weeks before she warmed up to Pageen."

"Really?"

She nodded. She placed the dice on the board in front of me. "Your turn."

I picked up the dice and the game continued.

For another fifteen minutes anyway until our game was trampled on – literally. Keifer and Lincoln decided they wanted to play too; however, in doing so, my little die-cast car leapt from its spot on St. Charles Place and vacated the board. I was then bombarded with kisses courtesy of Keifer, his moustache tickling my nose.

"Keifer!" Lyse sounded both annoyed and a little amused. "Dean doesn't want any more kisses." She grabbed the Schnauzer and pulled him away from me, then grabbed Lincoln before he could continue from where Keifer left off. She put them on the floor next to the board, then looked up at me. "I'm sorry. They're not usually this hyper."

I smiled. "It's okay. They're cute." But I couldn't help but wonder why they were as hyper as they were around me. There had to be more to it than that I was their new-found friend. Did they sense my need for a friend? Did they somehow know I was lonely? Was this their way of trying to cheer me up? I smiled at the three small dogs. Normally, I frowned upon the breeds smaller than Labs and Retrievers, but these pups had proven to me that dogs were Man's best friend, no matter how small they were.

"Okay," Lyse sighed, "where were we?"

I looked at the board. The Chance and Community Chest cards had done askew and were everywhere, Lyse's die-cast puppy was lying on its side in the Jail space, my car was on the carpet nowhere near the board, and one die was sitting on Free Parking while the other was against the wall beneath the window.

"I have no idea," I replied. "All I know is I just bought St. Charles Place…"

Lyse smiled. "Let's see who won."

The two of us counted up the money we had left. Lyse pouted when she stopped and I was still going.

"Dammit," she sighed, "I never win at Monopoly."

"That's because you spend too much," I said.

"But you have to buy as much property as you can," she protested, "before your opponents do."

"Yes, but it's the one who also has the most money in the end," I answered, "not just property."

"But money comes in when people land on your property…"

I fought back the urge to laugh. This conversation was very familiar to me. "Yes, but what good is ten bucks here, forty-five bucks there?"

"So you build houses and hotels to raise the rent."

"Okay, but it costs money to build houses and hotels. And you can't just buy every piece of property you land on. It's tallied by colour. Let's say I've bought all the red ones and all the purple ones. I've got five pieces of property. Let's say you have five as well, but you've got a red one, a green one, a light blue, a dark blue and a yellow one. I'm going to win because I've got two full colours of property. You can't spend the entire game buying a property here, a property there and building houses because you'll end up with no money by the end."

She sighed in defeat. "I guess I see your point."

I smiled, but not because I had just proven a point. "Sam and I had this same discussion."

"Really?" she asked. By the look on her face, she wanted me to elaborate.

"Yeah. It was our tenth time, maybe, playing it, and Sam was frustrated that he kept losing. So I told him what I told you, and helped him through another game… except he won almost every single game after that."

Lyse laughed. "You taught him well." Her laughter was short-lived, however. "Sounds like he learned a lot more than how to play Monopoly from you."

I paused, wondering how she knew that based on a story about a game of Monopoly.

Dad had done a wonderful job in training and teaching us how to be hunters, but he'd forgotten the real lessons. Sam had looked up to me since he was old enough to, and since Dad was always away on a hunt, it had been my job to make sure he wasn't picking up anything negative. I made sure he addressed his teachers, Mike and Kate and Bobby with respect, made sure he apologized when he did something wrong. Hell, I even made sure he shared with the other kids while he was in Grade One and Two. I had been there when Sam took his first steps, followed six inches behind him to catch him when he fell. Everything Dad _should've_ taught him had been entrusted to me. But I didn't mind. After all, I was the big brother; the one Sam had looked up to, the one to show him the ropes. Knowing I had done a good job made me proud.

"Yeah," I answered quietly. "I guess he did."

"It also sounds like he's a good man."

I smiled softly. "He's the best man I know." I snorted then. "I didn't think that at one time, but…" Why was being so honest? What was it about her that made me feel safe to tell her just about anything?

"I know that you mean," she said. "I had a falling out with my brother several years ago."

"What about?"

"He was going to College, and I couldn't accept that he was moving out and he wasn't taking me with him," she answered. "Keith and I did everything together; he was my best friend, and I couldn't imagine not having him at home. Things were said, and everything escalated, and then we didn't speak for about a year."

I unsuccessfully fought back a blink. That story sounded so familiar. "I know how that feels." I spoke softly.

"You do?" She gave me a raised eyebrow.

I nodded. "Yeah. Sam went off to College about four years ago. Our childhood was rough, and while I was happy for him, it angered me too. He got out and left me with Dad. I didn't talk to him for two years after that." I sighed. The years between Sam's departure and the night I dragged him away from Stanford had been some of the loneliest I'd ever been through.

She started gathering up the gone askew game pieces. "Do you mind if I ask what brought you back together? From what you've said, you two seem pretty close now."

No, I didn't mind. It was a legitimate question. "Family crisis," I answered shortly. I joined her in gathering the Monopoly pieces.

She gave me an understanding nod. "Family crises have a way of doing that."

_Don't I know it_. I went after the orange Chance cards. "Is that what brought you and Keith back together?"

Lyse shook her head, her deep red bangs falling in front of her face as she gathered the yellow Community Chest cards. "No, Christmas did."

"Christmas?" Why was I asking so many questions? I knew I wanted to know more about the woman I was sent to, but I couldn't help but wonder if I was being too nosy. Questions regarding one's family usually weren't asked until long after the first day of meeting. Of course, I had no idea how long I would be here. I had to know who my sudden roommate was.

She nodded as she reached for the die against the wall beneath the window. "We had gone through one Christmas not speaking, and while I was stubborn enough to continue it like that, Keith wasn't and didn't want to spend another Christmas at odds with each other. So, we patched things up and everything's been alright between us since then." She smirked then. "Of course, that means I usually baby-sit his daughter, but you know."

I laughed softly. It was all I could do that felt appropriate. While I completely understood the falling out and reunion she had with her brother, I didn't quite understand the babysitting part. I knew what it was; I had been babysat by Mike and Kate before and after Mom had died, and I had babysat Sam when we were too young to join Dad on his hunts, if I could truthfully call it babysitting. From the moment Dad had put Sam in my arms, I'd been told to watch out for him, to always look after him. Did that constitute as babysitting? I didn't really know; I'd never known the true feeling of babysitting like one would a niece or nephew. I probably never would either. Partaking in a normal family had never been and never would be in the Supernatural Hunter job description. And that was where I got mad at Dad sometimes. While he and the job had taught me hundreds of life's lessons, this whole lifestyle – if I could be so bold to call it that – left no opportunity to be normal. Sure, I seemed normal on the outside; I had a high school education, I knew how to blend into a crowded sidewalk, I could drive a car, but that was as far as my normalcy went. I never played extra-curricular sports or joined clubs in school. I learned archery and shot at tin cans with a .45 instead. I loved my father, I would never deny that, and I had long since learned to embrace the life, but there were many moments when I wished things were different. This would be one of those moments. I wanted to understand just a part of what Lyse had told me. Maybe this was my chance? Maybe I could have my turn at a normal life I could remember. Or as normal as it could be living as a Spirit…

Lyse folded up the board and put it back in the box. She put the lid on it, then got up and disappeared down to the basement.

I stood and went to the couch and was promptly joined by Keifer and Lincoln. I moved to the middle cushion, and they each took a thigh, resting their chins on them. Pepper was now in the living room, but a few yards away, sitting with her ears back, her big brown eyes watching my every move.

I heard the basement stairs creak and soon heard footsteps behind me.

"Hey Dean–" She stopped short upon seeing me with the dogs. She smiled warmly. "Looks like you'll fit right in."

I returned her smile, then looked down at Lincoln and Keifer. They closed their eyes as I started to pet them. "I guess so."


	17. Complicated

_**Chapter Sixteen  
**_**Complicated**

_[~ Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated? ~]_

_Lyse_

"…And Boromir doesn't like Aragorn because he doesn't think he's fit to be King of Gondor?"

Dean was sitting on the couch with Lincoln curled up in his lap. I was kneeling in front of the TV unit, taking out the first DVD of _Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring Special Extended Edition_. In one of our many conversations over the course of the afternoon, the movie had been brought up. Dean had never seen it, so I put it on. Thankfully, the man had been quiet through the entire first half and only started asking questions when I got up to order a pizza.

"That's part of it," I replied. "Boromir is also very proud and believes his father, who is only a Steward and is _not_ King, is ruling the realm just fine."

"And why don't the Elf and the Dwarf like each other?"

I smiled, realizing he had just been introduced to the wonderful world of J.R.R. Tolkien and knew nothing about the histories of any of the characters or races. "Legolas—"

"That's the Elf right?" he asked.

"Right," I replied. "It's complicated, but the long and short of it is, his father enslaved the Dwarves and now the two races hate each other."

Dean nodded. "That should make for an interesting journey."

I laughed. "It does." I put the second disc into the DVD player as the phone rang. I asked Dean to turn the TV volume down as I hit TALK on the cordless phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey Lyse." It was Pageen.

"Hey Pay, what's up?"

Dean looked at me when he heard the name.

"Tony and I are on our way home," she answered. "He's going to drop me off at home."

_Crap_. "I thought you were staying at Tony's."

Dean's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"I was, but his grandmother's taken ill again and she's in the hospital. They think it's another bout with pneumonia," Pageen replied.

I sort of felt bad. Sort of. I mean, I felt sorry for Tony; his grandmother was one of most wonderful, funny women I have ever met, and didn't deserve bout after bout with pneumonia, but Pageen's homecoming was only going to complicate things for Dean and I. I was sure Dean could stay out of trouble, but for how long? He had to be the most curious person I ever met, second only to my seventeen-month old niece. Sally got into everything, and so did Dean. How long would I be able to ignore him, _if_ I could ignore him? After all, Pageen couldn't see or hear him. So much for the relaxing night…

"I'm sorry," I said, "give Amy my love."

"I will, but listen, we're just this side of Barrie, so I'll be home in a couple of hours."

"Okay. I just ordered a pizza, so I'll save you a slice or two."

I heard my friend smile. "Sounds good. See you when I get there."

I hung up the phone and looked at Dean. He met my eyes with furrowed brows.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Our original plans for the night just changed," I said. "Pageen's on her way home."

"How does that–"

"I don't know how well Pageen would take to seeing a lump in the guest bed and no one in it."

Dean's eyes fell to the carpet. "So then where am I going to sleep?"

"You could try the couch after Pageen goes to bed," I suggested sheepishly. "That might work."

"And if it _doesn't_?"

"Then we might have to share my bed."

Dean blinked. "Really?" He rose an eyebrow. "That sounds like it would make for an interesting night."

I caught a tinge of innuendo and my head snapped to him. "Excuse me?"

He was quick to clear his throat. "Normally, I'd have nothing against sleeping with a woman, but…" He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly.

I sent him a smirk. "These are different circumstances."

Dean nodded. He cleared his throat again. "Couldn't you put out an air mattress or something?"

I shook my head. "No, because a, there's no room where the mattress needs to go; and b, Pageen would wonder why I'm getting more blankets when I have the warmest duvet in the house on my bed." I sighed. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"Then how do you…?" Dean sighed. "Never mind. Let's just finish the movie?"

"I agree," I said, reclaiming my seat on the couch, "before Pageen comes home."

_**-0o0o0-**_

"Dean! Those pieces are for Pageen!"

"I'm hungry!"

I bit back a curse. This man was impossible. He was into everything! First my vinyl record collection; then my CD collection, which he was very quick to condemn. He and I were lucky if we had three favourite bands in common, and apparently he had little to no respect for the bands I loved. That was a sore spot I hoped would heal quickly… Then he found my DVD collection, and now he was into the last three slices of pizza, which were for Pageen when she got home. I only hoped he wouldn't find my video game collection…

"Make yourself a sandwich," I suggested. "Those slices are for Pageen, and she knows I can't eat a whole large pizza in one sitting."

"But you _can_ eat a whole pizza."

"Dean! That's not the point!" Damn he could be annoying.

His shoulders slumped. "Okay. Where's the bread and stuff?"

"Bread and buns are in the pantry," I said, "and the butter, lunchmeat and condiments are in the fridge."

He headed for the pantry, but stopped at the sound of the deadbolt turning. He cringed and his eyes widened. "Damnit. That's Pageen, isn't it?"

I hung my head. "Yeah." _What do I do? _"Go upstairs to my room. I'll try not to be long."

Dean nodded. "Okay." He started for the hallway. "But can you bring me a sandwich when you come up?"

He sure was persistent. "Yes, now go before she comes in and hears you going up the stairs.

Dean disappeared and I heard him ascend the stairs. Pageen opened the door and stepped inside. Her heels on the creaky floorboard intermingled with Dean's movements upstairs. I sighed in relief when Pageen poked her head in the kitchen, oblivious to what had transpired just seconds earlier.

"Oh good," Pageen sighed, "you did save me some pizza." She kicked her shoes off at the door and entered the kitchen, beelining for the leftover pizza on the counter. She grabbed two slices and sank into a chair at the breakfast table, biting into one. She just about keeled over in relief.

"Enjoying that pizza?" I quipped.

She nodded vehemently. "Yes, I'm starved."

"You didn't stop for something to eat?"

Pageen shook her head. "No, Tony wanted to get down here as quick as he could."

I yawned, and used to the opportunity to feign fatigue. "Anyway, I'm heading for bed. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay. Goodnight."

"'Night." I left the kitchen and quickly ascended the stairs to my room.

Dean was sitting on my bed in the dark, staring at the floor when I stepped through the doorway. He didn't look up until I turned the light on.

"So what now?" he asked softly.

I closed the door completely, then moved to sit next to him. "Honestly, I don't know."

"I could sleep in the basement," he offered.

"No," I answered quickly, "it's November; that basement gets pretty cold."

"I'll just need a blanket," he pressed.

"Pageen will see me–"

"Wait 'til she goes to bed," Dean suggested. "Or put an air mattress on the floor right here."

I sighed. "That's easier said than done, Dean."

"How?"

"Pageen's a light sleeper for one," I said, "and I told her I was going to bed just before I came upstairs."

"But couldn't you wait until she goes to bed?"

"She'll hear me, Dean," I answered. "I'm not one to get up again not long after I go to bed. And after Friday, she'll get up too if I she hears me go any further than my bathroom." I motioned to the door beside the bed.

"After Friday?" Dean asked. "What happened Friday?"

I cringed. _Way to go, Lyse, real smooth…_ "My father was diagnosed with cancer."

I've never seen anyone's face fall so fast. "I'm sorry, Lyse. I didn't know, I'm sorry." His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

"Don't be," I said softly, though I was touched by his condolence. "It's not your fault."

The man nodded gently.

"The only thing I can think of for tonight," I said, "is you share my bed. It's the easiest and safest."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Dean replied. "This will be interesting."

There was the understatement of the day. I stood up and headed for my dresser for my pyjamas, then went into my bathroom.

This day had been a whole array of things: strange, difficult, interesting, complicated… I had always believed in the supernatural and paranormal events. Hell, some considered my empathy to be something supernatural – those who knew about it and took it seriously anyway. And that didn't happen until about two years ago when we were vacationing in Branson, Missouri and Keith broke his arm after jumping into the White River. Miriam had jumped before him and I was to follow him. Until I felt a sharp, splitting pain in my left arm and saw Keith struggling in the river with one arm. Before Miriam could tell me what happened, I was calling our parents and 9-1-1. When the EMS arrived, they checked me out too; I had a dark bruise in the spot where Keith's break was. That was when my family began to understand, and stopped taking my unexplained pains and discomforts lightly.

But this: housing a man… no, the _spirit_ of a man who technically wasn't dead, this topped my weird list. In all the time I've loved the supernatural, this was the first time I ever had to physically deal with it – other than my empathy. Not only that, he was here indefinitely; I was stuck with him until further notice. I know I was looking for a little spice in my life, but this was overdoing it. Talk about a curve ball.

I left the bathroom, now clad in a pair of purple sleeping shorts and light blue tank top. Dean was still sitting on the bed, fully dressed.

"You're not undressed yet?"

He looked at me sheepishly. "I don't have anything to sleep in…"

"Your T-shirt and boxers will do fine," I answered. "I'd get you something of Tony's, but Pageen would notice; she notices everything."

He looked a little unsure, but he nodded. He stripped down to his T-shirt and boxers, putting his clothes on the floor between the bed and the far wall out of sight. He pulled the covers down on that side, and slid into the bed.

I opened my bedroom door a bit for the dogs; Keifer and Lincoln ran in immediately. They jumped up onto the bed and lay against Dean's side. I had a feeling they wouldn't be moving any time soon. Not with Dean scratching behind their ears.

I shut the light out and drew the curtains shut. The streetlight outside was still shining in a bit. I crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling. It wasn't the first time I'd ever shared a bed with someone of the opposite sex, but I'd known them a hell of a lot longer than twenty-four hours. I could only hope I would sleep with the change of scene.

"Lyse?" Dean called softly.

"Yeah?" I asked, closing my eyes.

"What happened to my sandwich?"


End file.
